Single Mom Adventures

The Makeover

2010-01-29T14:46:00.000-08:00

Last summer one of my close girlfriends turned to me, curling iron in hand, and rolled her eyes, "Are you seriously 26 years old and you haven't figured out how to curl your own hair right?"

Well, not exactly. I can curl it! I just look so much better when someone else gets me ready! I'm not the best at that stuff. Same goes for if you happen to compliment my purse or earrings--I can almost guarantee it was a gift. If I look exceptionally put together, that odds are good that I walked into Banana Republic and grabbed the arm of my favorite male employee there: "I'm going out in 45 minutes and this is what I want to look like. Help me." (Oh, I wish I was joking!)

I like blogging, very much, and I am incredibly flattered that people take the time to read what I write and to comment on it. I really want to be able to interact more with the people who visit my site and to encourage discussion. With the help of Lauren at My Life, Incomplete and Jamey Stegmaier, I introduce to you a better and more put together version of Single Mom Adventures: http://penelopelife.com/. I am thankful for their help in the blog makeover! If you would be so kind to visit the new site, let me know you're there and let me know what you think, that would be awesome! In addition, if you currently subscribe to this blog on Google Reader, please change the link to the new one!

I really, really appreciate you reading what I write. Talk to you soon!

Turn It Off! Just Once.

2010-01-25T09:25:00.001-08:00

Some people get up within the first five pulses of insistent alarm beeping. Others reach out a hand, groping to quiet the combustion of annoyance mere inches away from what was a peacefully sleeping face, just one minute prior. And then they fall back asleep. And are equally, if not more, annoyed when the darn thing goes off again, eight minutes later. It's almost more insulting the second time because they are just relaxing in to sleep again. So they slam down the button in fury and curl their body back into the warm comforter with tousled hair splayed against the pillow. This happens until the last possible second, when the final alarm goes off, the one that demands a flurry of activity if said sleeper is interested in keeping their job.

If the latter individual sounds like you, you're a snoozer. I'm a snoozer.

Was a snoozer.

I have always known this is a horrible habit. The last 24 minutes or so that I allowed myself to snooze were always the kind of sleep that leaves you more tired than if you would have avoided sleeping altogether. In addition, my household has not been, ahem, the calmest of all places in the morning. Let's just say Aidan and I do not have spare time where we're tapping our feet in the kitchen and trying to fill the void before we depart for the day.

I have proudly gotten up when the alarm goes off for a week. Okay, the first day was to prove a point. The second day I did it begrudingly because, again, how could I make a statement that I am going to change something so very in my control and not follow through. Now? Now I love getting up when the alarm goes off. I practically bounce up! I am not kidding, it has only been one week and I'm falling in love with not being a snoozer.

Aidan and I had breakfast at the table last week. Leisurely breakfast. The kind we have on weekends with no plans where we chat and I actually have time to load the dishwasher afterwards. My hair has been dry and at least somewhat styled when going to work for the last week. I've been early to work every day. Not only do I not miss the snoozing but I actually feel more rested by avoiding the whole dragging myself back and forth between the contentment vs. exasperation alarm clock scene.

I was a snoozer my whole life. And I think I've permanently stepped over to the other side.

Do you get up when the alarm goes off?

(In full disclosure, I must admit that part of the reason I'm posting this is because I feel like I will owe you, Internet, and I will not snooze even if I feel like it. I can't tell the Internet I'm not going to be a snoozer and then have to admit failure at getting myself out of bed!!)

Pet Peeves: Pet Names

2010-01-22T22:09:00.000-08:00

I feel like it is always somewhat comforting to find someone else who shares your philosophy on what is totally obnoxious. That moment where you can turn to another and be all, "Finally! Someone understands why I'm so irked about this!"

A little pet peeve confession: pet names.

I'll make it very black and white for you. You cannot call me sweetie unless, um, I'm your sweetie. Which I'm not. I cannot think of one person, with the exception of my lovely mother, who is allowed to call me that at this time. If we're in love and you roll over in bed and call me sweetie, I will think it is the most adorable thing. If you are some stranger and you hold the door open for me and call me sweetie, my blood pressure instantly rises. If you are a male friend of mine, pet names should not be in your vocabulary when talking to me. I'm pretty easygoing, about most everything. I am rather offended by people taking the liberty to call me anything other than my name.

This past summer, I was allowing myself to sort of be set up with someone. I wasn't excited about it. I felt like it was more of a chore than anything. But I also allowed myself to feel like dating was something I should be doing. So I get this voice mail from said set-up dude wanting to make plans. It was so awful to me that I was a horrible person and played it on speaker phone while out with my girlfriends for beer night.

They all looked at me. "Are you seriously that pissed that he called you beautiful?" One of them asked, a bit incredulous.

It wasn't a good, respectful thing.

It was, "Hiya, beautiful, blah blah blah, well hon, blah blah blah, give me a call sweetie. Blah."

Needless to say, my call was abrupt, direct and I declined the dinner invitation.

Am I the only one? I honestly feel like this type of talk is degrading. If you're my sweetie, you'll know. Until then, I am annoyed by pet names.

What are your pet peeves?

Lessons on the Ice

2010-01-18T08:03:00.000-08:00

I've never been that mom before.

The one whose kid is crying incessantly in the middle of an activity and wants to get out of there, immediately.

I've often said that it suits me better to have a child that tends to be a bit adventurous as opposed to one that is timid. I'm used to my child jumping as high and as far as possible into the chilly pool for swim lessons. I'm used to having the child that is running so fast during soccer that he unintentionally throws himself into a forward somersault and laughs about it. I roll my eyes and shake my head when a beam of light shoots down the hallway after bedtime and Aidan is hanging precariously off the top bunk so he could edge his pinky toe over to the light switch with no other purpose than to annoy his mother. He had stitches before he turned two, we can imitate a circus routine on a low level when I lay down and he stands on my outstretched arms and he can throw (though not catch) a frisbee with more skill than most teenagers.

He begged for ice skating lessons. Being a hockey mom would not be my first pick. But it is not my pick. I have vowed to expose Aidan to as much as possible and support whatever he chooses to participate in.

Saturday was an absolute disaster.

He was crying before he even got on the ice because the skates felt funny. They were too tight and bunched his socks up all weird and if you know my child, you know that "finicky about clothing" is a tame and kind description.

I don't know how to describe the painful half hour that followed other than to say that he simply did not get it. He couldn't stay standing up, he exhibited completely uncharacteristic fear about falling and he was the kid out there that requires the constant attention of the assistant coach. When he saw me watching from behind the plexiglass, a fresh wave of tears commenced and he literally dropped down to his knees on the ice and started crawling towards the exit. I walked out on the ice and guided him back to class.

In all fairness, there was another child having the same troubles as Aidan and I overheard her parents say, "It's okay sweetie. If you don't want to do it, we'll just leave."

I'm quite certain Aidan wishes he would have had a parent like that on Saturday. He does not. After the class, the parents are allowed to come out and spend another 10 minutes on the ice with their kiddo. Hopefully everyone else was paying attention to their own child because I made a spectacle of myself, purposefully falling all over the ice to show Aidan that I just had to get back up afterwards and coaching him in a way that was reminiscent of encouraging an infant to walk.

When we left, he stated the obvious: "Mom, that was too hard. I don't want to go back. I don't like ice skating."

He gets to learn a lesson about his mom. "Baby, we don't quit in our family. If something is hard, you try harder."

Rarely is something hard for Aidan. He runs fast, he's (usually) coordinated, he writes well, he makes friends easily and when I walked into the TV room the other day he had figured out how to change the language on the movie he was watching to Spanish and was sitting contentedly, watching his movie in a foreign language.

We don't quit. Aidan may never be great at ice skating, but he will improve. And I guess this mama gets to find out what it feels like to have a child who is a bit timid about something.

I'm secretly thrilled that this particular class is only six weeks. It's going to be a really long six weeks.

Pillow Fights in Our Underwear? Not So Much.

2010-01-13T12:04:00.000-08:00

My friend Jamey and I were discussing our weekend plans via e-mail. He has a game night planned with friends this weekend, I'm hosting a girls' night. I had to laugh when he posed the typical male question, "I assume you all will be having pillow fights in your underwear?"

I don't know what it is with men and them envisioning this scene and how they cling to a ray of hope that it could ever be possible. Jamey is a fantastic writer with a great daily blog. He will be discussing why men even pose the question and what type of answer they're looking for. Check out his point of view! From the female perspective:

The fantasy:

They think we're the pinnacle of attraction at these girls' nights. They fantasize about us wearing lacy pink underwear with sexy bras (which, of course, match our panties) and our long hair resting on our cleavage. Or maybe a black garter with a rhinestone bra (matching again, of course) and spike heels, if that's your thing. In these fantasies, we're throwing our toned, desirable bodies all over the living room and the bed with pillows clenched in our hands and a couple of stray feathers floating down to the plush carpeting as we playfully hit each other. High pitched giggling rings through the air as a pillow unexpectedly grazes us from the side.

The reality?

We show up, some of us in our pajamas, all in need of a drink after the week's demands of working, parenting and attending class. These pajamas are a t-shirt, that might possibly have a stain on it from a child's mishap or perhaps rushing to get that evening's tacos ready so we could get out the door, paired with faded bottoms that do not match. Our hair is tossed up, no one has put on bronzer before departing and when we sink into the comfort of a worn couch, there's little hope we'll be getting up until we need another drink. The sex talk involves how ticked off one girl is that her husband stopped, mid-foreplay, and pointed to her stomach. "What's that?"

End of all sexiness: "That's a stretch mark. From the children I gave you."

If we are showing any more skin at some point in the evening than when we walked in the door, it's only to turn disgustingly to a friend. "Are we getting old? I don't feel like I had back fat before. Let me see your back."

We laugh, we share parenting tips, we play Catch Phrase like it's the highlight of our week (it may very well be), we release a little steam about our endless to-do lists and we stuff our faces with the variety of appetizers we've put on the table.

Those poor, poor boys. If they only knew. Maybe we'll just leave them to their fantasies.

Synonyms: Embrace, Affection, Squeeze

2010-01-11T08:03:00.001-08:00

I am a hugger. There is no chance you could come to my house without receiving, at minimum, two hugs. Are you coming? Going? Being cute? Looking sad? Overjoyed about something? Breathing? You're getting a hug.

I've often been told that I'm a good hugger. I don't even know what this means! What constitutes a good hug? Length? Tightness? Back pats? Whether you nuzzle your head on the left or right side?

I had an absolutely fantastic weekend. There wasn't anything particularly fascinating about it. I spent a lot of time with Aidan; we checked out the ice sculpting downtown, saw a movie (I cannot believe I dished out good money to see The Squeakquel, it was awful), went to the bookstore, went to church and, in typical Holland fashion, ran into lots of people we knew while out and about. I unexpectedly had the evening to myself on Friday and chatted with my girlfriends at happy hour and went out to dinner. Aidan and I were invited to a friend's house for dinner on Saturday night and had friends at our house last night. Busy, but low key.

I counted. I hugged over 35 people this weekend. Not 35 hugs, 35 people. And this was not some experiment, I wasn't trying to get my hug on more than usual.

I have to wonder if that's part of what made my weekend so great. Imagine if, right before you're about to let some rant loose while being tailgated that you both pulled over and had a hug. About to lose my temper over Aidan refusing to change out of his pajamas before church? Let me just hold him for 30 seconds while the frustration literally dissolves. You run into someone you know at the bookstore and hug them. Everyone feels just a little bit better and walks away with a little skip in their step. Super annoyed with someone you love? How mad can you stay when you're locked in an embrace? My guess is that the sharp words turn to heartfelt ones.

Hugs, I think, soften the heart. And I know some people aren't touchy-feely and maybe this idea is a bit uncomfortable, a bit awkward. But try it. Hug as much as you can this week. And see if you don't find yourself just a little bit happier.

The Single Woman

2010-01-06T16:30:00.000-08:00

Some single people do not mind being single. Some are even excited about it, doing this on purpose! But everyone who is attached is darn determined to find a cure for this disease.

"Oh, you'll find someone!"

"You just haven't met him yet!"

"You would totally be perfect with my nephew/cousin/ex-boyfriend's sister's ex-boyfriend"

This may very well be true.

And I played along with this game for a bit. Maybe I was willing to let myself be set up with a friend's boyfriend's best friend. Maybe I got a little excited because your cousin sounded great. Maybe I spent some time with a guy that I didn't really think was all that great because I wanted some company.

I'm done. The last couple of months have been lovely. I like being single. I do not care if the entire year of 2010 passes and I do not lock eyes with some guy over a flickering candle and Chicken Parmesan. I find it offensive when someone calls me "recommendable". You recommend restaurants. Movies. Your favorite ice cream. A person is not recommendable. I attend weddings and other functions alone because I'm not interested in baby-sitting. I'm so used to being the extra wheel that I can literally wrap up an entire evening spent with a "group" and not realize until I'm home that I was with four couples.

I'm pretty sure this bothers other people much more than it bothers me.

Let me spout off a few reasons I love being single:

When my house is filled with ladies next week Saturday for girls' night, I don't have to kick anyone out.
In the next week I have three dinner dates! Two are with girlfriends of mine and one is with a girlfriend and her husband. I like this. I like that there are so many people in my life that I dine with regularly and I don't know if I would do this if I was someone's girlfriend.
If I want something, it's totally on me to make it happen.
This is silly, but I like that I can keep the thermostat at the desired temperature and don't have to consult with another on grocery shopping.

This should not be misconstrued- I don't have a bitter perspective from being jaded in the past. I'm also willing to date, but I'm certainly not going to date just to date.

Perhaps if I was even mildly impressed with the fishies in my sea, I would have a different attitude. But the fact of the matter is- the water I'm swimming in is not glistening with great men. Plus, the longer I am single the more I get to know...me.

So. Single. Satisfied.

It should not be a personal mission of anyone to "hook me up" which is what often happens to the single woman. If I decide to date it will be because I met a really great guy and am excited to get to know someone, share me and grow. And, just a hunch, but I'm guessing it's not your mom's neighbor.

It's All Wiggly!

2010-01-03T17:12:00.000-08:00

I had a bit of a freak out moment last week as I carefully completed an application for Aidan's Kindergarten enrollment next fall. The feeling was compounded when I phoned our doctor's office to obtain the required immunization records. I always shake my head when he puts on a pair of sweatpants that totally fit last week but might now spur a thought of: if he's going to look like he's habitually ready for sports practice or bedtime, the least his mother could do is get the right size. And speaking of sports, I will officially be a soccer mom come Tuesday! With the exception of one unfortunate and ill-timed spill on the snow hill last night, he was perfectly capable of cruising down on a sled solo, while bright lights beamed down on him.

My little boy is growing up.

You don't necessarily notice it when you see them every single day. Even just an absence of a couple days causes me to caress his silky hay-colored hair longer and hug him that much tighter. He always looks just a tad more self-sufficient if I've embarked on a mini-trip with friends and he's spent his weekend playing Go Fish and Slap Happy with Grandma.

Then there are the undeniable milestones, however small, that unexpectedly get you.

On Friday night I prepared dinner for us. A sandwich, applesauce, fruit and corn on the cob- one of Aidan's favorites. He excitedly bit down into the corn on the cob. And subsequently burst into tears. His reaction was so startling that I'm sure I just stared at him as lengthy seconds ticked by. Finally, I snapped to.

"Honey! What's wrong?"

"My, my, my...." He trailed off as fresh, salty tears cascaded down his little cheeks.

"What happened?" I asked again, a little more frantic this time.

"My tooth!" He gasped out.

Then he spoke again. "It's all wiggly!"

His first loose tooth. He had mentioned something the night before, but as he pointed from one side of his mouth to the other in his complaint, I hadn't paid much attention. And, of course, millions of mothers have had this moment, so my moment is not unique.

But I can't believe that sometime in the very near future he'll have a little hole in his mouth and I'll be playing Tooth Fairy.

The good news is, he says he'll eat steak and fish when he has big chompers. His words exactly.

2009 in Quotes

2009-12-31T06:06:00.000-08:00

Like every blogger, I have an end of the year post!

I have learned more about myself in 2009 than any other year. It was the year I became a full-time single mom. It was the year I graduated. It was the year I was dealt some tough cards and I learned who I really am in dealing with them. It was the year I was forced to dig deep. It was the year I learned to accept my flawed, exuberant self.

Which is a lot.

I like to get my way, I am already a loud talker and that just gets magnified when I drink and I always try to get too much done every day. I used to freak out when my calendar wasn't filled and while I still keep a fairly active social life, I've learned to really enjoy quiet time alone. My best and worst quality is that I wear my heart on my sleeve and I let people into my life freely. You get all of me- the good, the bad, the loud, the overly honest, the emotional, the frustrated, the indecisive. I am incapable of holding grudges and probably forgive too easily. I am kind to everyone, even when they don't deserve it or don't even want it. This, of course, means that I leave myself wide open to getting hurt. But that is just the way God created me.

I feel like I spent my younger twenties trying to look like I had it all together. I wanted to be happy. I wanted to look happy. I tried to convince myself that my life was just as it was supposed to be, even though I knew it wasn't.

This year I came to terms that my life isn't what I thought it would be. I thought I would be happily married and on my way to five children! I thought I'd be staying at home and throwing dinner parties with my husband on the weekend, the husband who took care of the family. I am decidedly single with one amazing little boy. I work 40 hours a week. And I throw some pretty fun girls' nights. So the picture is not what I thought it would be. But I am absolutely certain that I would not be who I am today without this path, without all of the struggles I've had, without being forced to do this all on my own.

And the funny thing is, I totally stopped worrying about looking happy. Granted, I may have been a little emotional while wrapping Christmas presents alone, thinking about everyone who gets to share that task with another. And I laugh a little too forced and loud when I state that I do not have one girlfriend who is single. Not one! Even if I count my girlfriends in other states!

But my heart is at peace. I've accepted imperfect me. And despite ups and downs and drama, that has made 2009 the best year ever. I'm genuinely happy.

I have a lovely girlfriend in another state with whom I email regularly. We often share "quotes of the day." Here are some of my favorites from the year:

"Happiness often sneaks in through a door you didn't know you left open." ~John Barrymore

“Your beloved and your friends were once strangers. Somehow at a particular time, they came from the distance toward your life. Their arrival seemed so accidental and contingent. Now your life is unimaginable without them.” ~John O’Donohue

“Life is too precious, too important, too short for quick fixes that in the end fix nothing and from which we learn nothing except that we have wasted our time trying to find happiness in short cuts. The only way to real fulfilment is to look inside see what is there, then look outside and see what difference we can make with what we have to offer - whether we knew we had it in us, or whether it was something we grew within us over the coldest, most seemingly dormant, or darkest times, in order to reap the richest harvest of all.” ~Jacquelene Close Moore

“We do not believe in ourselves until someone reveals that deep inside us something is valuable, worth listening to, worthy of our trust, sacred to our touch. Once we believe in ourselves, we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight or any experience that reveals the human spirit.” ~e.e. cummings

"A true friend is someone who thinks that you are a good egg even though he knows that you are slightly cracked." ~Bernard Meltzer

“Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day. ~Rainer Maria Rilke

“For a long time it had seemed to me that life was about to begin--real life. But there was always some obstacle in the way, something to be gotten through first, some unfinished business, time still to be served, a debt to be paid. Then life would begin. At last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life.” ~Alfred D. Souza

"Do everything. Love as much as you can...it may hurt but it helps us grow. Give all you have...you may be poor but you will be content. Always forgive...your heart can not afford not to. Teach what you know and learn what you don't. Stay open to all." ~Anonymous

“Happiness is not a state to arrive at, but a manner of traveling.” ~Margaret Lee Runbeck

“Oh the comfort, the inexpressible comfort, of the feeling safe with a person, having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are, chaff and grain together; certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and with the breath of kindness blow the rest away.” ~Rex Cole

"Any emotion, if it is sincere, is involuntary." ~ Mark Twain

"I must learn to love the fool in me--the one who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, lacks self-control, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs and cries. It alone protects me against that utterly self-controlled, masterful tyrant whom I also harbor and who would rob me of human aliveness, humility, and dignity but for my fool." ~Theodore I. Rubin, MD

“The greatest loss of time is delay and expectation, which depend upon the future. We let go the present, which we have in our power, and look forward to that which depends upon chance, and so relinquish a certainty for an uncertainty.” ~Seneca

These were all quotes that were sent through emails during 2009. I encourage you to live in the present.

The best to you in 2010!!

25 Days

2009-12-25T13:04:00.000-08:00

So I've decided to do "monthly experiments". The focus being something I attempt to concentrate on for that particular month to make life more enjoyable and to better myself. I am a firm believer that life is the journey, that there is not some happiness to arrive at, but rather the experiences shape us and we are continually growing and learning. I could write a laundry list of ways in which I would like to improve myself as a human being, so hopefully I'll tackle those slowly but surely.

This month I made myself write down one thing I was thankful for before I went to bed. Rather simple considering it's the season and I graduated this month. But having all of these things contained in a few journal pages reminds me that I have incredible people in my life and, even on the days where I'm feeling down, I have been blessed with much.

In the future, I'll go the whole month and report back, but I thought this would make for an appropriate Christmas blog.

12/1 - One of my girlfriends sat on her couch with me, offered me a glass of wine and helped me to think through some personal stuff in my life. I am thankful for genuine friendship and the ability to be open and honest.

12/2- My Mom and I were in Ann Arbor looking for Arbor Brewing Co. before a show and we were totally lost. Hunched under an umbrella too small for two with water beginning to seep into our shoes, this older woman appeared out of nowhere. When she didn't have directions herself, she followed us and went into a shop to ask for us. She sent us on our way, then disappeared. I am thankful for kind strangers.

12/3- A girlfriend texted me to let me know she got us tickets to the Nutcracker as a graduation present. I am thankful for friends who love me.

12/4- The battery in my phone has been losing power for quite awhile now. I was gifted with a nearly new phone by a friend who was upgrading hers. I am thankful for generosity.

12/5- My son and I experienced this disaster and my friend laughed, loved us and told me what a good mom I am. I am thankful for needed words hitting my ears.

12/6- My Mom watched Aidan during the evening while I utilized her computer to write two papers for school. I am endlessly grateful for a mama who is so good to her grandson.

12/7- Aidan's dad and I talked about Christmas and he told me I could have whatever schedule I wanted. I am thankful for a drama-free divorce.

12/8- My boss gave me dark chocolate during a long work day. I am thankful to be employed, to be busy and, always, for dark chocolate :)

12/9- One of my closest friends sent me the most lovely email. I am thankful for soulmate friends, the kind who get you and love you unconditionally.

12/10- Today is so easy. I was unexpectedly gifted with a gorgeous pair of diamond earrings that I would never be able to afford as a graduation gift. It made me cry. I am thankful that there are people in my life who recognize that this mama isn't often (or ever) gifted with fine jewelry and wanted to make my day.

12/11- I had sushi with a good friend who openly told me what some of my positive character traits are. I am thankful for people who do not hold back, who say what is on their mind and who let the people in their life know how special they are.

12/12- My lovely little sister drove to be at my graduation and my Mom threw me a surprise party. I am thankful for my family. My wonderful, crazy, loud, honest family.

12/13- Five friends of mine threw me a graduation dinner. I am thankful for people who love good food, wine and conversation as much as I do.

12/14- I went out with friends and watched Monday Night Football. I am thankful that my son sees his dad every week and that I can relax with a beer and my friends.

12/15- Tonight was officially the last class of my undergrad. I am thankful to the parents, professors, bosses and friends who helped me finish.

12/16- I visited a girlfriend of mine who just had a baby. Every time I hold a precious new life, I am amazed at the miracle. It made me really thankful for the health of my son and for my own health.

12/17- I started to read a book tonight. For pleasure! In English! With a homemade candle lit and a cup of tea in hand, I am thankful for my awesome, cozy home. It is all mine and I feel very blessed that I have been given the abilities to earn what I have.

12/18- I like to dance. I really do. Completely sober in my living room or a couple cocktails deep out with friends, I enjoy it. I'm not really a good dancer. I'm just someone who looks like she's having a good time when she's doing it! I danced tonight. I am thankful for music and dancing.

12/19- I went for a run this morning and it was a snowy, winter wonderland scene. I am grateful for my ability to put one foot in front of the other and for every moment where I feel truly alive.

12/20- Aidan behaved so well when I took him to an indoor garden/sculpture park with tons of different Christmas trees decorated for various countries. I am thankful that God entrusted me with the little boy who is perfect for me.

12/21- Bedtime was before 8. BEFORE 8. I am thankful that I have every evening with my boy and can give him a better schedule now.

12/22- Aidan brought home a little brown paper bag from school with a gift that he made for me in class. He is obviously very proud of it. I am thankful for a school that gives children something to put under the tree for their parent.

12/23- I walked into an establishment as one of many last-minute shoppers. Having already checked at multiple other places with no success, I told the clerk who I was shopping for and what they're in to. Help. I am thankful for patient people who work in retail.

12/24- I went to the Christmas Eve service at church alone. And I was running a little late. I am thankful for the usher who helped me find an empty seat and for the kind people surrounding me.

12/25- After Aidan opened his gifts I was able to set up the Wii by myself, help Aidan build a lego house and I taught him to drive a remote control car. I am thankful that, even when I doubt my own abilities to do something right on my own, I always seem to pull through. And I'm thankful that I had people I could call had I not been able to.

From my family to yours...Merry, merry Christmas.

What are you thankful for?

Unique Divorce

2009-12-22T05:50:00.000-08:00

My divorce is, hands down, better than my marriage was. We’re free from drama. We’re not trying to love each other just because we had a kid together. We channel all of that love to the amazing boy we created.

To some, my divorce might seem odd. At times, it is to me. The basic facts are simple…we’ve hammered out a weekly schedule that works for both of us, the majority of that time being with me. We both bend over backwards to accommodates changes when they arise. We keep every last detail out of the court system. I really don’t feel that a third party is necessary to make life choices for our son. On the other hand, I know I’m lucky that my son has an incredibly laid back dad who sees his son every week and isn’t ever looking to pick a fight. And I’m never looking to be on a power trip.

It’s the other details that are different. We have no filter with each other, we never walk on eggshells. When I go to pick Aidan up and my ex is like, “Wow, it’s chilly in here.” I’m all deadpan, “Turn your fan off, buddy.” He brings Aidan out to my car and says, “Wow, clean your car much?” I can tell him his haircut looks bad and he can make fun of me for talking too loudly on my phone in his house. Yet we somehow never offend each other.

I know that, for the rest of my son’s life, I will have to remind his dad at least three times, on separate occasions, if I want him to show up for one of Aidan’s functions. He knows that I would be crushed if I did not have both Christmas Eve night and Christmas morning with our son, so he kindly sits in the backseat and waits to accommodate my schedule preference.

This semester it was not uncommon for me to pick Aidan up after a Tuesday night class and have dinner waiting for me, courtesy of my ex-husband. And you have to understand, the ex is a fantastic chef. I mean really, really talented. He also took the pile of leaves I raked this fall and dragged them to the curb for me because I wanted to leave earlier to visit sisters in another state and I, of course, had waited until the last day to get that little project done. I bought his birthday dinner and gifted him with gorgeous beach shots of Aidan for Father’s Day. He hooks me up with delicious eats when I'm throwing a girls' night. Since child support is included in the list of what we keep out of the court system, I'm extremely flexible. I would never, in a million years, intentionally create drama where my son is concerned and we both agree it is in his best interests to keep our relationship in a good place. I was extremely nice to the girl he dated for awhile, because she was extremely nice to my son. Though I haven’t introduced Aidan to any males yet, I know the ex would be supportive.

So, knowing all of this, the other day was typical.

My phone rings. It’s the ex, he sounds a touch frantic.

“What are you doing?”

Me, all sassy, “I’m getting dinner on the table for your son, what are you doing?”

“I’m cooking for some people at their house, right by you. And I forgot to bring a whisk. And I’m making this custard and I have to have a whisk. Please?” The restaurant where he is the head chef is miles away.

So I load up our son and grab my whisk.

When I pull up to this house, I realize how ridiculous it sounds when I talk to the guy who greets us, “I’m dropping this kitchen utensil off for my ex-husband. He’s the chef.”

After we depart I call him. “You owe me.”

“I know.”

“I’m just saying, next time you see me in your restaurant, you better pull out all the stops.”

He counters, “I have a feeling you’ll be calling me to shovel soon.”

Darn it. He can always get me with the enticing manual labor offer.

“Whatever, you owe me dinner.”

“Will do.”

My favorite part about this is that it’s all representative of the norm. Aidan’s parents loved him too much to stay together, but definitely enough to pull off one hell of a divorce.

Double Digits are Normal

2009-12-18T05:01:00.000-08:00

Thank you for reading the previous self-indulgent graduation posts. And now, back to your regular programming.

I was asked to sub on a bowling league last night. I originally agreed because I was excited I actually could. I didn't have school and Aidan wanted to see his grandparents. Perfect! The only problem is, I am a terrible bowler. Really bad. No, worse than that. I bowl all wrong. I have my hand turned the opposite way it should be so that I am basically flicking the ball which generally sends it to cold, dark gutter land. In addition, apparently I bowl on the same side I am stepping with so I have to throw around my leg, which is also a very ineffective manner of getting the ball to the pins.

And this is a LEAGUE.

I watched a guy from the team next to me throw down six strikes before he had a frame where he only knocked down nine pins. And subsequently looked as though perhaps someone had killed his cat. On purpose.

The first round I bowled a 62. Then I felt inadequate and tried to improve. I bowled a 54 in round two.

If this wasn't enough, evidently the three guys I was bowling with forgot to brush me up on bowling league etiquette. Because after a few frames this woman stormed over to me and hissed, "You need to wait until the person on our team is done bowling before you walk on the wood." What I really wanted to reply was, "Thank you, D-Cup. You really need to wear a bra while you're bowling."

I refrained and instead smiled sweetly and, in a sugar-coated tone, said, "Oh, I had no idea! Thanks!" Immediate mean eyes were dished out to my teammates, as they probably knew I was going to get called out on this. I guess this is what I missed out on by not having brothers.

The shining moment of the night was when this old man from another team felt personally called on to help my sorry ass out. First he helped me lead with the right foot. Then he, very kindly, told me that I look a bit challenged when throwing the ball and assisted me in correcting my horrendous form.

First frame of the third round I threw his way. I threw a strike. A strike! I hadn't even had a spare up until that point! I jumped up and down like I won the lottery and he just had that proud, satisfied coach look written across his face.

"Thanks, grandpa!"

My team looks at me like I am an idiot, because it's not like he gave me permission to call him grandpa. But he totally looked like a grandpa and mine aren't alive. If they were, teaching me how to bowl would be something I'd like them to do. Besides, he definitely didn't mind. I don't think. He kept giving me pointers.

Guess what? Yeah, that's right. TRIPLE DIGITS. Just barely. But I felt better about that 101 than the guy next to me felt about his 235, I'm sure of it. I almost made the employee at the counter print it off for refrigerator material but decided against it, as I think I adequately embarrassed my team for the night.

I'm not thinking I'll be asked to sub again anytime soon. But I totally want to go bowling again. Seeing three digits next to my name was, sad to say, genuinely thrilling.

Surpriiiiiise!

2009-12-15T17:48:00.000-08:00

Let's put it this way. The week my sister got married, I had insomnia. She, on the other hand, slept just fine. If there is a party happening in my family, I'm up to my elbows in the planning. I am not, in any way, complaining about this. I used to be an event coordinator and I absolutely relish in the preparation and pulling off of an event.

That same sister knocked my socks off by driving 16 hours from New Orleans to cheer me on when I walked across the stage Saturday. As I scanned the crowd to find my family, I realized my error in not wearing waterproof mascara as my eyes landed on my little sister, waving with the same ferociousness as someone who has just realized the camera is poised in their direction while in Times Square on New Year's Eve. She spent 32 hours in a vehicle with her 5-year-old over the course of four days so that she wouldn't miss my day. That is love.

I also thought there was a very real possibility, even as the first person to graduate in my family, that we might just order pizza that night. Okay, I'm joking. But I certainly was not expecting to see a white stretch Hummer casually hanging outside my mom's house when we walked out, calling who was going to ride with who.

What the what?

And then we showed up to dinner and I'm all predictable, "Table for eight, please." This, of course, right before I notice that friends of mine are already sitting there! It was amazing. My two closest friends, one local, one in Philly, had helped my mama pull off an epic surprise.

Every last detail- the Spanish champagne, the invite in rhyming Spanish, the Mexican food...it had been planned perfectly.

I LOVE surprises.

Thanks to all the awesome people in my life.

And now I'm feeling the itch to plan a party for someone...

Typical.

Finally a Graduate!

2009-12-14T05:28:00.000-08:00

I cannot sum up graduation weekend in just one post, so this one will be Aidan-focused and the next one will be everything else(surprise party, limo, etc)!

A typical day in the life of Aidan and his mama for the last semester: Mom gets up around 6. Aidan gets another 50 minutes of sleep. Then we're both up and a flurry of activity ensues. Breakfast! Arguments about clothing! Making sure we don't forget show and tell items for A, homework for Mom, both gloves for A, Mom's coffee thermos to keep her sane, etc.

Comments like this constantly ring out, "Aidan! A royal blue shirt and navy blue pants do not match!"

"But Moooommm! They're both blue."

Screw it. We don't have time. You'll just have to look like your mother blindfolded herself before picking out your outfit.

Aidan is off to either his dad's or school for the day, I'm off to work.

The after party: Three days a week Aidan has either been with his dad, a grandma or a girlfriend of mine while I attend school. I pick him up just in time to cuddle him, maybe get a short activity in and on to the bedtime routine. Which he has been dragging out even more than normal as a result of not getting in enough face time with his mama. Which has whittled my patience down to something resembling that of a person who has been stuck behind a train for twelve minutes and was already five minutes late when they got on the road. Not good.

After this full day of excitement, I settle down on the couch with a Spanish novel, or an assignment from writing class.

Joy.

This has all been about as fun as shoveling my driveway in a hot pink bikini while someone shoots paint balls at me. Just keep going! It'll end at some point! C'mon, dodge that potential disaster! DO IT! Even though you feel as though you may just throw in the towel, sit down and decide it's not worth it.

Last Thursday the mitten blessed us with a snow day. Granted, it was supposed to be my final presentation day for my final Spanish class and now I have to go do that tomorrow, but it was the first Thursday night I've had with my boy since summertime.

We made fudge, we read stories, we took a ring off the Christmas countdown chain we made and we delighted in this lovely little gift of a lowkey evening together.

Last night, after the perfect dinner with friends, I turned off all the lights except the Christmas tree and we cozied up and slept by it together.

I get this ALL THE TIME now. Every week night. Weekends. With my boy. I haven't had this since he was born.

Blinking back tears as we fell asleep under the shimmer of Christmas last night I felt really grateful. Grateful for a boy with infectious laughter and genuine hugs and kisses who sacrificed so much so his mama could finish what she started eight years ago.

Heels and Push-Ups and Why Wandering Target Is Better than a Pedi

2009-12-09T13:14:00.000-08:00

Me: “Careful, Aidan. There’s snow and slush all over the ground.”

Aidan: “Why do you have to be careful? You’re wearing push-ups.”

Me: “Huh?”

Aidan: “You know, your shoes.”

Me: “Oh, you mean my heels?”

Aidan: “Yeah, your push-ups.”

I love laughter at 7:34 in the morning. And Aidan, thank goodness, is always good for a laugh.

This foot related topic reminds me of something I was thinking of the other day, while Christmas shopping for the boy.

Oh, love of my life. Target.

I think every female in the country will agree with this universal truth: It is impossible to go into Target and spend less than $50. I don’t know who is responsible for their store layout and marketing, but BRILLIANT I tell you.

A typical trip: I go in for laundry detergent. Twenty minutes later, I also walk out with a new whisk, sweatpants for Aidan, wrapping paper, a journal, black tights, new push-ups (no, not a bra, I’m using Aidan’s word for heels), contact solution and a blue candle I totally needed for my TV room.

I swear I just went in for the detergent.

This happens to me all the time. I actually have to have months where I forbid myself from entering a Target, otherwise my budget will get flushed down the toilet. I used to think maybe it was just me, and my impulse for pretty and random things, but look at every other woman’s cart. They’re doing it too.

And it just isn’t the same thrill to buy one $200 item. If I’m going to drop $200 at Target, I’d like to have 17 items to show for it. It’s the hunt, really. The mindless wandering through each and every aisle, the debate about whether I really need new washcloths. Or glassware. Or eyeliner. Or paint and construction paper for Aidan. Or kitchen utensils. Or a picture for the wall. It’s the joy of finding items that have just been put on clearance that maybe no one else knows about yet. These trips are absolutely a guilty pleasure of mine.

If I had to pick between a pedicure and an hour by myself at Target with a $50 gift card, I would TOTALLY pick Target. You?

Not Exactly According to Plan

2009-12-05T14:13:00.000-08:00

I think a lot of moms get these big, fantastic ideas of activities they will do with their children. You know, trips to the museum with an art project or perhaps a day at the zoo with a camel ride. It all sounds so promising in theory. And just think of the cute picture opportunities!

This morning's vision: A friend invited Aidan and me to accompany her in picking out her Christmas tree at Teusink's farm. They also had hot chocolate and donuts, Santa, face painting, ornament making and hay rides. Sounds like kiddo bliss, right? I'm imagining us frolicking through the snow, big flakes grazing our cheeks as we help our friend select the perfect tree and partake in the fun designed for a little kid's joy.

This morning's reality: Aidan throws a total fit before we even leave the house. Does NOT want to wear his coat and his boots FEEL ALL FUNNY. We compromise in getting him to the car. Once we reach Teusink's he returns to being a disaster. My kid is the one loudly sobbing in the middle of the field while all the other families search for the perfect tree to take home and adorn with holiday decor. Excellent. Once we calm that little situation down, it's on to the activity room! Aidan walks in and the first thing he says is, "I only like the REAL santa. Not that fake one." Oh, that's not embarrassing. I mean, I guess I'm proud that he is bright enough to recognize that Santa with a candy cane painted on his cheek and cognac-colored loafers is probably not legitimate.

I don't know what the hell I'm going to do with the ornament we made and sprayed with fake snow. Every time I touch it little white particles are left on my hand.

Next up.

Hay ride!

And he'll even voluntarily put on his coat for that! Amazing!

I am carrying him over to the John Deere-led wagon filled with hay when I slip on ice and drop us both. He's bawling (again) and my left knee is black and blue. It's positively freezing on the hay ride, though I'm trying to salvage some of the adventure.

"Aidan! Look at the horses!"

Whoo. Hoo.

These are types of things where I'm all, huh. Should have just stayed home in our pj's. Would have been great.

At least I can laugh about it now! And maybe you will too.

A Song and An Adored Mother

2009-12-03T13:10:00.000-08:00

My mother is impossibly easy to love. She is genuine, she is casual and she has a heart of gold. She is one of those women who is constantly doing kind things for others and never seeking praise or recognition. She allows my young, single mama self to keep my social life and sanity by continually being worthy of Grandma of the Year accolades. If that wasn’t enough, she is gorgeous, with warm, caring eyes and a great smile. She still turns heads. I can only hope heredity will bless me with aging as well as she has. More importantly, I have much to learn from her mild, easygoing, gracious and loving manner.

Needless to say, she is one of my favorite people in the world. I love sipping red wine and chatting with her or making dinner together or taking my son to the museum with her. When she called last month and asked if I’d be interested in going to a concert with her in Ann Arbor, the answer was an easy “yes”. I love that town, the delicious eats available, a chance at quality time with my mom and I rarely turn down the opportunity to enjoy live music.

This was quite the show.

If you haven’t heard of The Swell Season, I would recommend you check them out, immediately. Glen was naturally inclusive of the crowd and wove his way into our hearts with his genuine manner and sharing of insight into their music. He was the kind of guy where you instantly turn to the person you’re attending the concert with and say, “I want to have a beer with him after the show. Or three. I TOTALLY feel like we would get along so well.” He told stories, he encouraged the crowd to sing, he was connected with the audience and obviously very passionate about their music. And I swear Marketa’s voice was perfection floating in the air.

One of the stories he told was about meeting a late 70’s/early 80’s aged woman in Chicago. He complimented her royal blue coat in the elevator and they struck up a conversation. In typical “old person” fashion, she was blunt and told him she had never heard of his music, never heard of his movie ("Once"), never heard of him. He was affable and accommodating and helped her get her bags to her taxi. She informed him that she was on her way back to her hometown, New York, and he invited her to their next performance there. She agreed. Her weathered, wrinkled hand on the door of the car, her silvery hair glistening in the sun, she turned to him.

“My son went into that fucking building, you know.”

His employment had ended on September 10^th. He had gone back on the 11^th to pick up a few last things.

“So if you’ve got something to say to someone. SAY IT.”

Such simple advice. But it’s human nature, I think, to often let things linger between our mind and heart and the impossibly long journey to gracefully rolling off our lips. I’m still not certain if it is fear that holds us back, the possibility that our feelings will not be returned and we’ll suffer some form of rejection or if it’s just difficult to appropriately form the phrases that explain the way our heart feels and our head thinks.

Her words struck me. I have stuff I’m thinking and not saying. I do. And I really like to think that I am one of those people that habitually puts myself out there. I’d like to think that if my life ended prematurely, someone would order some great food and delicious red wine and $10 bars of chocolate like I bought at Zingerman’s yesterday and all my friends and family would have a celebration and say, “Damn that girl loved life.”

But I’ve still got things I’m thinking and not saying. Sometimes I wish I could get to the “old person” mentality. They’ve lived so much life. They’ve got it all figured out. Nothing is as big of a deal as you think it is. No one scrutinizes your actions half as much as you think they do. The vast majority of the time, we all wish the other person would put themselves out there.

So I leave you with this song, and this message: Say it.

I’d rather know I tried and failed than to never know what I could’ve had.

PS Mom, you are the most amazing mother a girl could ever hope for. I love you.

Christmas Trees and Boy Stuff

2009-11-27T06:14:00.001-08:00

Dragging the Christmas tree up from the basement this year nearly caused a trip to the ER for this mama. I'm sure I've already offended some who feel that only a real tree is appropriate for the holidays by admitting that my 7 1/2' tree comes out of a box. I have this thing for symmetry and besides, attaching a tree to the top of my vehicle, taking it down by myself when I get home and dragging it inside while Aidan offers helpful suggestions does not sound like my idea of an enjoyable afternoon. So I got the large box out of the holiday corner and pushed it over to the flight of 12 stairs. The box is unquestionably too large and too heavy for one female to hoist upstairs. Particularly a female who is 5'1" on a good day.

But I am stubborn.

I got it to the 11th step the first time around and then simultaneously dropped it and nearly fell down the stairs, thereby forcing my now sweaty and frustrated self to start the project from square one. So there I go, again, huffing and grunting and using more adrenaline than muscle to force it upstairs. Got it this time.

But I was so flushed and tired by the time I got to the top, that I was in no mood to decorate anymore. It is times like this I wish I had a man around. If I would have been able to say, "Hey, will you bring the tree up for me?" I would have been singing to Christmas music and wrapping twinkling lights around the branches while encouraging Aidan to pick out his favorite ornaments to hang on the tree.

The tree is still in its box in the middle of my living room and I get a little pissed off every time I walk by it.

I had another moment yesterday, where I wished for a male to help, this time in answering a question for my son.

"MOM! It won't go down!"

"What's that, honey?" I question, absentmindedly.

"My pee-pee. IT WON'T GO DOWN!"

"Uh. Um. Uh. I'm sure it will. It has to at some point."

Right? I mean, it will. I'm sure there's also a much better response for that kind of statement. But I don't know what it is.

Sometimes I really, really love my independence. And sometimes it is all a bit overwhelming.

Ten Good Reasons to Finish School Before You Get Yourself Knocked Up

2009-11-20T08:08:00.000-08:00

10.) It becomes very difficult to face forward in the classroom. Then impossible. Those desks are not designed for a pregnant woman's comfort.

9.) It is kind of embarrassing to have milk stains on your shirt when in college.

8.) Your prof doesn't really care if you were up all night. Everyone was. Only difference is, they were knocking back Coronas and you were trying to calm a child getting two-year molars.

7.) You cannot work full time and go to school full time and raise a child and pay a mortgage. You will either go crazy or never see your child. Which will make you go crazy. So you must opt to take one to two classes per semester. I like to call this THE FOREVER PROGRAM. Major doesn't really matter, it's just going to be forever before you're holding that expensive piece of paper.

6.) Getting up at 4am to write a paper before you go to work when you didn't go to bed until 1am because you were doing laundry and getting kiddo's stuff ready for the next day really sucks.

5.) You will criticize the clothing of your fellow classmates and be all, "Is she really wearing that? How old is she?!" And then, no matter how old you are, you will realize you are old in comparison with everyone else.

4.) Study Abroad does not really work with a child in tow. Go ahead and cancel that semester you were planning to spend in Brazil.

3.) In your Senior semester, it's really odd when your prof is only three years old than you.

2.) You will want to turn to a fellow classmate who is complaining about their allowance and tell them to shut the hell up. You probably will go ahead and say it.

1.) Motivation when you're a Senior? Not good. Motivation when you've been a Senior for TWO YEARS? Practically non-existent. I may actually go crazy during the next ten times I have to sit in class. But then? Well, the forever program actually ends.

So I guess there is a little silver lining! But really. Finish school. Then make babies. That is my PSA of the day. Please let me know if you need another hundred reasons or so.

Simple

2009-11-16T18:13:00.001-08:00

There was absolutely a time when I defined success in terms of money, titles and what I could show the world I had accomplished. My first two years at Michigan State were spent as a Journalism major with a determined desire to work long hours, produce shows and some day have a comfortable spot in front of the camera, á la Katie Couric.

I remember mid-sophomore year as I juggled being a co-producer for MSU News, planning activities for the girls on my floor as an RA, working at the front desk and maintaining a decent level of energy on a routine four to five hours of sleep a night, that everything changed.

I woke up and thought, "I'll never be able to keep this pace and be a good mother."

Which was a thought lobbed totally into left field as I was 19 years old, decidedly single at the time and had absolutely zero prospects for a family life.

The story, in facts, is simple: Got a restaurant job, got knocked up, got married, got divorced, get to raise world's most amazing child. (Possible bias on that last fact.)

There are times, I will admit, when I feel a little stuck. I cannot save the majority of each paycheck and take a few weeks off to travel Europe- something that would certainly be feasible of I lived in the world of singletons. Perhaps I would sell my home and live in a cramped apartment so I could start an event coordinating business. I can guarantee you that I would have finished my degree long ago. Maybe I would live in Spain right now. Maybe I would have experienced being a big city girl for a year or two like I had always imagined. Perhaps I would get all crazy and set some goal like biking coast to coast. I don't know.

The reality is that I cannot. At least not right now.

I went to Indiana this past weekend, where three of my four sisters live.

In the midst of pure chaos, which is the norm for a family with five sisters and 10 offspring, I glanced around and listened to life happening. Dinner cooking, football on downstairs, Wii competition commencing upstairs, the dog barking, my darling little niece falling asleep on my chest...certainly nothing out of the ordinary.

I'm right where I'm supposed to be. I'm a family girl. My intuition from seven years ago was spot on. And I may be slow on the take...but I will finally graduate in 26 days.

Success is now defined in terms of relationships and in slowly working towards goals and never giving up. Success is having a house full of people who love one another and being able to yell, "Go Colts!" at a television screen with my son. Success, to me, is not what I am wearing, what I am driving, what I live in, how much money is in my bank account or what my job title is.

Everyone defines success differently, of course. And while there was a time that I thought I was absurdly off the path I was intended for, I now think that detour shaped my perspective in a way that nothing else could have.

When someone else's life is more important than your own, the world gets really simple all of a sudden.

One of the Good Guys

2009-11-09T09:19:00.000-08:00

I am well aware that there are parental hurdles that I will have to overcome as a single mother of a boy. There are the inevitable stereotypes that come along with each gender. I am hyper-sensitive to them, with a heightened awareness for the fact that Aidan is modeling after a female on a more frequent basis. I am forever trying to both cuddle him and engage in rough and tough wrestling with the enthusiasm of a guy. I endeavor to raise him to be as well rounded as possible. Then there are the undeniable opposite sex basics: we use different restrooms when out in public, one of us goes lid up, one goes lid down, we have different “junk”.

However, there are differences far superior in importance to me than the fact that only a few more months can slip by before posted signs regulate that I must send my child through the men’s locker room before we can swim together.

I wish I could think of a more eloquent way to phrase it. But what I want to say is this: I will not raise an asshole.

That kid will continue to put the lid down and open doors for women and be good, SO GOOD, to people. He will be the kind of guy that returns communication and is genuine and treats people like they matter. When a bunch of adolescent high school girls are having a sleepover, their topic of conversation will not include how my son Aidan is a self-centered jerk. No one will be crying because he broke their heart and then stomped on the pieces. He will be fun, he will get himself in crazy trouble, he will break the rules and have to fix his own mistakes, he will continue to cause me to pull my hair out. But he will not ever intentionally be an asshole, so help me.

So this morning is totally typical. I’m drying my hair; Aidan is eating breakfast at the table. We turn some music on so Aidan can rock a little 6:30 am air guitar while I attempt to locate the desired pair of turquoise earrings to match my outfit. Aidan walks up to me.

“Mom?” he questions, totally serious.

“Yeah?”

“So. This girl in my class wants to marry me.”

“Really? What do you think about that?

“Well, I like her and all. But what about all the other girls?”

A ladies’ man? Maybe. Probably. That kid is so charming. But his mama will make sure that when the time comes to have relationships with those girls…he will treat them right.

I’m sure his future wife will thank me that she got blessed with this guy who is cuddly and engaging and sensitive and articulate and active. Because his mama cared, more than report cards, more than athletic prowess, more than his creative ability to fashion something impressive on a piece of paper…she cared that he was one of the good guys, that he knew what it meant to value the life of someone else.

Road Trippin'

2009-11-05T06:54:00.000-08:00

One four-year-old.

One Mama.

One drive from Holland, MI to Madison, WI.

One drive from Madison, WI to Holland, MI.

Zero stops.

Even I'm impressed that I have my little boy so well trained that he follows the "Mommy does not like to stop the car before reaching destination" policy that I've instilled. I take great satisfaction in getting the computer print out that tells me it will be a 5 hour 47 min drive and getting there in 5 hours and 10 min. I'm all triumphant: SUCK IT, MAPQUEST.

Silly, yes. But absolutely true.

I was equally impressed that nothing but a new pad of paper, markers, two cars, snacks and dance parties (okay, arm waving and head bobbing) was required to keep my little dude decently entertained.

Of course truth be told, it poured for the first three hours of the drive out to Wisconsin and two different colors of marker mishaps had stained Aidan's cheeks within minutes of our departure.

BUT. We did it. Our longest road trip ever, just the two of us.

I remember, vividly, when driving through the speedy, bumper-to-bumper scene of Chicago caused me to lean forward, white knuckles gripping the steering wheel. On this trip I was the definition of relaxed: shoes tossed in the passenger seat, flipping through my ipod and crusing with the flow of traffic.

I've described in other posts the things I've had to buck up and figure out how to handle on my own: shop vac usage on Christmas Eve with 18 people on their way to my house, shoveling at 3 am so I can get out of the driveway for work, killing live mice with a broom.

I've come to find that we can all handle more than we give ourselves credit for. I think it defines a person, the way we react when the mold of life as we know it breaks and we're left, standing alone in the pieces. I was a little bit of disaster for months.

It's just me and this boy. And I realized, while crossing state lines, listening to Fleet Foxes and munching on goldfish crackers...I'm finally totally okay with that. I'm comfortable in these single mama shoes. And I get to share so much life with the coolest kid I know.

Because You Just Don't Know

2009-10-30T05:43:00.000-07:00

There is a reason I sometimes announce to Aidan, "Let's have icecream before dinner!" as though I am a babysitter trying to get him to like me, instead of his mother. After work it is not uncommon for me to park by the autumnal splendor of Centennial Park, where the ground has been painted various shades of harvest, take my little boy's soft, young hand in mine and skip down the sidewalk. Sometimes my mom gets a copper tin filled with sunflowers and daises and a note that reads, "you're the best grandma ever" while at work. Aidan charms me by asking for an extra penny at Meijer, so he can find a new friend to gift with a horsey ride.

Reason being: We love life. There are no guarantees.

I am the kind of blunt, spontaneous, do-not-care-if-I-look-like-an-idiot person that does and says things with little to no regard for if I look or sound ridiculous. Like, high-fiving my date saying, "Duuuude! We totally avoided first date awkwardness!" Or dancing, in absurd fashion on my birthday, to amuse my friends. I am not bothered in the least by potentially being thought silly because of my overly exuberant demeanor. On one spontaneous, snowy day last year, I sent a card to a longtime Via customer who was getting divorced at the same time as me. The card sparked a beautiful, soulful friendship and we now see each other at least once a month. We went out for a bottle of wine and appetizers last night. Settling in to a much-needed chat session and the kind of laughter where I unconsciously slap my knee, throw my head back and squeeze my friend's arm in delight that we can share this, two things happened.

1.) Another restaurant patron picked up our entire tab on their way out. I won't go into the details, other than to say it was completely unexpected and we were both touched to the point of blinking back tears.

2.) We got chatty with a group of three women sitting kiddie corner from us. Being our typical goofy selves, we asked what they were drinking and engaged in playful banter about how female camaraderie is bliss. It is, to me, that light your soul on fire kind of feeling...like getting flowers, listening to live music, getting a genuine bear hug and sipping on a glass of exquisite Cabernet while nibbling dark chocolate ALL AT THE SAME TIME. Over the course of the evening we shared a little more talk and then I announced, loudly, that they MUST get the chocolate lava cake with gelato and three spoons. A warm bite of chocolate gooeyness cut with silky smooth gelato is hard to beat as the most preferable manner in which to wrap up a meal.

Our server called me rather quickly after our departure.

Evidently one of the three ladies at the other table has cancer and, according to her doctors, does not have very long to live. They had "a wonderful, fun time chatting with the ladies at the table nearby."

Life.

There are no guarantees. My earlier bitching about raking leaves has been replaced with a gratefulness for the fact that I am completely able-bodied and can gather the blanket in the backyard into piles and drag it to the curb. When my kiddo wants to read that 68-page bedtime story I always try to avoid, I will say yes. I owe some stranger dinner, because, that. is. just. fun.

I believe. I believe in humanity, in extra hugs, in putting myself out there with the simple hope of making someone else's world a little more enjoyable. I believe in surprises, in grinning at people I don't know, in my-eyes-are-too-wide-and-my-nose-is-all-crinkled-up-smiling-too-big excitement when good things happen to my friends. I believe in laughter and contagious enthusiasm. When Aidan chases down his friends for a hug before we end a play date I'm all, "Yep! That's my kid!"

I KNOW that a kind word, an open heart and a warm embrace have the power to change...everything. And I know that I better make this day good, because I don't know how many more I've got.

The Stack

2009-10-26T12:18:00.000-07:00

The backseat of my car is often littered with multiple papers that have been accumulated over a week or two at the hand of Aidan. He must bring home, at minimum, five worksheets/art projects/writing practice sheets a day. He only goes to school 2 1/2 days a week, but the amount of paper that comes home with him is staggering. I am pleased, of course, that he learns so much at school, that he is practicing the same things I'm teaching him at home, that his creativity is being encouraged.

I'm not the best. I definitely do not take a close look at what is coming home with him on a daily basis. I sat down over the weekend to ruffle through the stack; I typically hold on to an item or two for the fridge and discard the rest. (If anyone has a brilliant suggestion for how to avoid the guilt I feel when doing this, please share!)

Hot tears sprang to my eyes on the third sheet. It was an All About Me book. Aidan had written that he is most proud of, "how much I love my mommy."

I think I'll be making a point to look through these worksheets on a decidedly more regular basis.

Chicken Nuggets and Fries!

2009-10-19T06:48:00.000-07:00

I did something I’ve never done before with my kid yesterday. My kid who will be five in February. The picky eater, former vegetarian who has recently decided he will eat chicken nuggets, turkey hot dogs, homemade bread and still likes the fruits and veggies that have been sustaining his existence up until now. I have lost WEEKS of my life trying to get that boy to eat. I simply cannot comprehend how someone could have THAT much energy when I know darn well that he had two carrot sticks, four grapes and a forced nibble of peanut better and jelly for lunch. I have coaxed, prodded, pleaded, bribed and lost my temper, all in the name of a few more bites.

The stars are beaming at me; he now consumes relatively balanced meals without a fuss. Although this child, who wouldn’t touch mac and cheese with a ten foot pole, has informed me that he *might* like pasta when he is five. Four-year-olds just aren’t ready yet. Same goes for salad.

Anyways, back to my point.

I took Aidan to McDonald’s. MCDONALD’S! For a Happy Meal! And you get a toy! And this was after I took him to see Where the Wild Things Are, and I was officially the coolest mom ever yesterday.

Aidan was practically giddy with excitement.

Mommy does not do McDonald’s. Case in point- at the Tulip Time parade last year a friend excitedly said, “Aidan! Look! It’s Ronald McDonald!”

My kid: “Who’s that?”

Mommy doesn’t really do fast food in general.

He was bouncing off the walls excited, or maybe it was the chocolate milk with 25 grams of sugar, but I was awarded a huge hug, and “Mommy. Best. Day. Ever.”

Maybe I will make this whole McDonald’s thing a yearly trip. You know, because I need Aidan to think I am cool at least once a year.

Who knows. Maybe he’ll get a cheeseburger next time!

The Reason

2009-10-14T09:41:00.000-07:00

I knew so much would change. My heart, my ability to love unconditionally, the feelings and emotions delicately woven into the mother and child relationship, my growing up, my purpose, my body, my soul. Though only 20 when I found out I was pregnant, I was miraculously not intimidated. I was thrilled at the prospect of bringing a beautiful human life into the world and wrote my son love letters in a little book that still adorns the top of my dresser.

No one ever told me that I could physically ache for another person the way I do for my son.

I saw Aidan for the first time last night since Friday (and I swear he’s grown at least an inch). I enjoyed a much-needed and thoroughly enjoyable vacation with Renee and her husband Craig in DC and was also able to meet up with Kelly and Buck over the course of the weekend. It was delightful to connect with my old friends. Though I returned on Monday evening, Aidan was with his dad for the night. By mid-day yesterday I felt nearly frantic. Aidan, of course, had been having a blast- getting spoiled by both grandmas and spending quality time with his dad. Although his dad did tell me that at bedtime Aidan said, “You know, I miss my mommy.”

I literally felt like a part of me was missing being away from him for four whole days. That is the longest, consecutive period of time we’ve been apart since his birth. I positively craved him. His laugh, his smart ass remarks, the way he still twirls my hair when he is sleepy, the feeling of his warm little body in my lap. The depth of these moments is indescribable. It is the purest of love and holds such carefree authenticity.

I was, if possible, drunk on us last night. I had picked up a hilarious new book of 14 short stories that I read in silly voices and we just giggled and giggled. “Do it again, Mom, again!” That is the sweetest sound my ears could’ve heard. How I had missed the simple, mundane things like having him next to me while brushing our teeth. A tickle war? Best. Thing. Ever.

When I tucked him in and kissed him goodnight way too many times I realized that I owe it all to him. My heart is open because of him. I have felt the most intense emotions because of him. I know how to love another human being because of him. Because of a boy that has not quite reached five years of age, I have learned what matters.

Just drive by. You'll see it.

2009-10-13T08:13:00.000-07:00

I’ve already been thinking about crafting a sign to stake in my front yard that reads:

Dear Non-Creepers:

I will make you an unimpressive, but hot, dinner and send you home with beer if you will please help me rake all my leaves and drag them to the curb when they finish falling. There may even be chocolate chip cookies.

Love,

Penelope

Not sure that I’d get a response but that should at least be indicative of my feelings towards raking. I dread it worse than getting a cavity filled. I look at beautiful orange and red leaves that have drifted down and all I can see are calluses on my hands. It is only with great thanks to Jessie that my yard was actually raked last fall, as opposed to me procrastinating right up until snow fall and having to deal with the soaking, heavy leaf disaster in the spring. This year is not looking full of promise.

If THAT looming project wasn’t enough I noticed a lovely present while taking my garbage out this morning. Perched, right in the middle of my roof, is the orange-bagged newspaper I never read. The one that is always carried from the middle of my sidewalk to my recycling. I can’t even say if it is the Flashes or something different, I pay that little attention to what is inside. No ignoring it now, it’s hanging out at a height that does not allow me to toss it to recycling and I don’t own a ladder.

Excellent.

I would be totally tempted to hop up on the roof and remove it, because it looks ridiculous. I can handle always being the last one on my block to take their garbage can in, and always having pretty flowers and horrible, uncared for grass, and unintentionally having a driveway that has been shoveled, (lovingly!), at an angle. But I feel like that newspaper is mocking me. I will not, however, attempt to get it sans ladder, because I did that once. While Aidan was napping last spring and I was working on the yard, I noticed a bunch of branches to be removed on the roof. I am fairly nimble and thought I’d have no problem hoisting myself onto the roof while precariously balancing on the edge of my deck. This sounds absurd, even as I type it. Needless to say, I was wrong. I got about half of my body up and was bent halfway over the edge of the roof with my dirt-streaked legs dangling. I probably could’ve swung my legs up but instead opted to drop back, effectively scraping my entire stomach and fortunately getting a toe back to the deck. Heart thudding at my own stupidity, the branches are still there.

But they are in the back.

I can already tell this newspaper is going to drive me crazy. And now the sign I want to make for the front yard goes something like this:

Dear Dude That Delivers This Paper I Don't Read:

Not nice. Might want to work on your aim, buddy.

Love,

Penelope

Oh, what? You think I should buy a ladder? Yeah. Thanks :)

Morning chatter

2009-10-07T07:28:00.000-07:00

I delight in those precious moments that start our day where Aidan and I converse about whatever we please as I drive him to school. Sometimes the topic of conversation is the sunrise, or about how Aidan does not want to wear what he is wearing, at other moments a request to listen to The Late Greats, or what we are going to do when mommy gets off work. Today:

Aidan: Mom, what are you going to be for Halloween?

Me: I hadn't really thought about it. What do you think I should be?

Aidan: Hmm, how about a nice, pretty mama!

Silence; I adjust the rearview mirror to look at him.

Me: Um, honey, Halloween is for costumes.

Aidan: Yeah...

Me: So you don't usually think I'm a nice, pretty mom?

Aidan: Oh. Right. Well, how about a witch then?

And I swear, that kid with impeccable timing smirked at me.

Not Mother of the Year

2009-10-01T20:04:00.000-07:00

I was taken out of the running from the beginning.

A normally competitive person, I do not believe that spirit is intended for motherhood, or parenting in general. We've all heard it. The boasting about a mother's offspring. How intelligent, what an advanced reader, so artistically inclined, what a fantastic arm, already working on a second language, was a perfect sleeper at six weeks, the best eater you'll ever meet. Must mean that the mother is borderline perfect!

And on and on and on.

I'm guilty. Like every mother, I like to believe that my son is just such a prodigy!

Let's be real, shall we? I'll start. Here's a slim list of my dirty laundry. If we had all day, I might bore you with the more comprehensive version.

I lose my temper.

I occasionally allow, on particularly tough and time constrained mornings, my child to wear the same t-shirt he wore to bed to school.

If getting dressed is really a disaster on any particular given day, it is possible that I will offer Aidan a jumbo sized marshmallow in exchange for him sporting the desired pair of jeans I have been attempting to wrestle him into for the better part of ten minutes. That's right- a bribe. Go ahead, judge away.

I partake in an alcoholic beverage after my child has fallen into a deep slumber post-bedtime routine.

Speaking of bedtime routines, I sometimes allow Aidan to fall asleep in my lap on the couch after a delightful line-up of bedtime stories. Not because he isn't perfectly capable of falling asleep by himself in his own bed, but because he likes it and I am all too aware that there will come a time when he is no longer able to lay his little head in my lap and let his chest rise and fall and his long eyelashes flutter as he happily drifts off.

My laundry is never, ever done.

If you come over to my house and my bed is made, it is because I knew you were coming over.

I am the mom at Captain Sundae who is trying to do something nice with her child and take him out for ice cream, only to have him yell, nay, SCREAM across the ship, "I don't love you, Mom!" because he is so furious that I got his Blue Moon and rainbow sprinkles in a cup instead of a cone. Instead of disciplining him and throwing his unappreciated ice cream cup away I let him sit a few yards away and stew while other Captain Sundae patrons glare at me and judge my style of mothering. But I know my kid. When he was done with his sticky blue treat, he walked over to me with tears in his eyes and said, unprompted, "I'm so sorry I said that, Mom."

I consider a peanut butter and jelly sandwich to be perfectly acceptable for dinner. Sometimes for three nights in a row.

That woman putting her mascara on in her rearview mirror at a stoplight while her kid eats breakfast in the back seat? Yep, that's me.

I let Aidan pick out a couple of bedtime stories and then am a jerk and tell him one of them is too long. As though, in the big picture, anything in my life that evening could be more important than cuddling my child and reading the story of his choice to him.

I AM THE DEFINITION OF IMPERFECT.

But I'm real. How boring and unauthentic would it be if all moms put on this front of having it together. I never have it all together. But man do we love in my family.

When I look back at this challenging but unquestionably joy-filled time in my life, I highly doubt anyone will remember whether my child's clothes were from a secondhand store or from the Gap. No one will recall the gift Aidan presented their child with at a birthday party. Hopefully the state of my house and the furnishings in it will be a distant memory. What is most important for me to teach my son is this:

We are good to people. We love people. We live every day of our lives. When we greet people and we depart, we hug them and let them know how much their life means to ours. When we make mistakes, we own up to it and apologize. We forgive easily. We take this gift of life and we appreciate it. We keep it real.

Saturday Night with A

2009-09-28T09:30:00.001-07:00

I reveled in rocking out to Kings of Leon while drinking cheap beer on Friday night after a peaceful and kidless car ride to Indiana with Shauna. We had a blast being only 20 or so rows away from the awesomeness that is KOL and, especially, Caleb Followill. The cool, damp autumn breeze that drifted throughout the amphitheater packed with thousands only added to the fact that it was one of those moments where you glance around, totally aware, and think, I’m so glad I’m a part of this right now. We danced, we bought over-priced t-shirts and we swooned over the band. We were typical twenty-somethings.

But I had so much fun on Saturday night, too. I don’t think a mother could ever adequately explain the joy of partaking in simple nothings with their child. There is something about your child’s impossibly soft cheek grazing your own and their genuine fits of laughter and sparkling, innocent eyes giddy with excitement that mom is down on the floor playing…these moments cannot be replaced.

After a dinner playdate with the lovely DeYoung’s, we headed home, sans agenda.

This is what this 26-year-old does on Saturday nights:

We play Cootie.

We lay on the floor and take silly pictures of ourselves and giggle at our facial expressions.

I might possibly allow Aidan to yell, “To Infinity, and Beyond!” while catapulting his growing body off the side of the couch.

We dance to Free Fallin’.

Then we pull out the futon, fill the house with the aroma of popcorn for a snack and, while I am still the bigger of us two, I act as a pillow, letting Aidan meld his preschool body into mine.

I think that all mamas need their free time, their chance to explore what matters to them, those individual moments where you figure out what makes you tick and what encourages the most joy in life - whether it be art, music, sports or something else. I will continue to go on “Mommy Escapes” and come into my own as a person, separate from my role as a mother. Concerts and brewery trips and visits to friends in other states and running races will always be important to me.

But there really is nothing like a Saturday night in with my favorite kid in the world.

Pulling THAT card

2009-09-21T07:01:00.000-07:00

I’m embarrassed.

I totally pulled single mom damsel in distress to sweet talk my way out of a warning or ticket with a member of the Holland Police Department on Saturday night. This is the second time I’ve been pulled over in the past 5 weeks. Oops.

The first time I got pulled over last month sparked my pledge to pay all my bills at once. I had been pulled over for neglecting to renew my registration and then, naturally, did not have current proof of insurance in my car either. I somehow skated out of a ticket for my failure to renew, and there is a part of me that thinks it might have had something to do with the fact that Aidan’s toys were strewn across the backseat and a handful of Fruity Cheerios had made their way to the floor. I’m sure the man had no problem believing that I was not pulled together enough to have remembered a timely payment for this yearly expense.

Then the latest incident: I was pulled over because I have a taillight out. I know this; I am a procrastinator and keep forgetting to change it. I pull the expected, “Oh, really?” He of course needs identification. Which I of course do not have. I am six blocks away from my house, where the purse I was using earlier today has my license nestled in the side pocket. I am fumbling through the pile of stuff on my front seat as he hovers next to my door. I finally turn, “Um, I guess I don’t have it on me.” And then I actually say to him, “So about getting this taillight taken care of…where should I go to do that? I don’t have a husband and I don’t know how to do it myself.”

I actually say that to Mr. HPD.

Eww. I am presently the poster child for why women are ridiculed for getting out of these types of situations. And I’ve clearly made myself look way more ditzy than necessary, as though I could be dense enough to not know where to purchase a taillight.

It likely helped my cause that Aidan was snuggled into a fleece Transformers blanket in the backseat, having passed out after enjoying a perfect evening of frisbee playin’ and digging in the sand with a stunning September sunset as our backdrop.

Whatever, it worked. I’m not proud of it, but we were laughing and he was telling me to have a great night by the time I carefully pulled back onto Van Raalte.

List of immediate things to do:

Keep license, proof of insurance and registration (All three! At the same time!) in my car, I will not get this lucky again.

Go to Autozone.

Hope that I do not have any male readers, I’ll never live this down.

Friday's weekly round-up

2009-09-18T06:29:00.000-07:00

This momma is:

Listening to…the Veckatimest album by Grizzly Bear

Reading…He Said Beer, She Said Wine by Sam Calagione and Marnie Old

Thinking about…making pumpkin muffins with Aidan

Working on…getting the house cleaned up for Girls’ Night!

Drinking…White Sangria tonight, a Belgian IPA last night

Purchasing…a new sifter so I can sift powdered sugar for icing

Dreading…reading more Spanish lit for my 495 class

Loving…September and its indecisiveness in electing to be Summer or Fall

Happy Friday!

One. Two. THREE.

2009-09-17T07:38:00.000-07:00

Why, oh, why must the mama count?

When I ask my son to do something, I feel like it should be perfectly understood that I am serious. If he would just adhere to my requests the first time around, we wouldn’t engage in these battles over what I need/want him to do and what he feels like doing or thinks he desperately requires to be content. My requests are simple. Typical. Reasonable. For his well-being. For my own sanity.

Please brush your teeth.

Please put on pants. Preferably ones that match your shirt.

Please eat two more carrots. Let’s see who can crunch them the loudest!

Please stop leaping like a cat from one couch to the other.

Please stop moving the chair over by the stove and precariously balancing yourself to sneak some dum-dums out of the cupboard.

Please pick out two bedtime stories. Fine, three.

Please say sorry. We do not hurt other peoples’ feelings.

Please do not chug your chocolate milk as fast as you can so you feel justified in asking for more, out of fear that it may be months before I relent again and buy chocolate milk.

Please do not solicit me to spend another $4.99 on a small, plastic, magnetic creature (AKA Bakugan), I am already considering buying stock in them as it is.

Please, oh please, oh please do not dawdle and just put your shoes on when I ask because I AM ALWAYS RUNNING LATE AND WE HAVE TO GO NOW.

But no.

I am a counter.

It goes like this:

Aidan. Fairly pleasant voice but I mean business.

One. A bit more stern, eye contact is always necessary.

Two. I practically bark this out, it is usually the number that gets some action.

I rarely make it to three, although I do occasionally falter and say through clenched teeth, “Do not make me get to three, young man!” I don’t like to get to three. Three is a time-out, more for me than him. I am so incensed by this point that I need to set the timer for myself so I do not blow up.

I think I’ve done something wrong in the parenting department here because, as effective as the counting usually is with him, he now expects it. There is nothing that makes my blood pressure rise faster than, “Well, aren’t you gonna count, mama?” in the sassiest voice possible from my little guy, after I’ve made an undemanding request for him to pick up his cars and move them two yards down the hall to his bedroom.

I wonder if this motherhood business is encouraging more patience from me, or if I’m losing it, bit by bit. I think I’m going to start counting in other languages. Maybe this will throw him enough to just wise up and listen to his mama the first time around.

Uno. Dos. TRES!

The First One

2009-09-16T06:52:00.000-07:00

As a single mom/full-time employee/half-time student/homeowner...my life is a bit hectic. Chaos is the norm, and I constantly feel like I'm chasing my own tail and about five seconds away from really losing it this time.

I've gotten totally accustomed to being the only person that takes out the garbage on Tuesday mornings and having to routinely get up at 3 am during the winter months to see how much white powder has accumulated in my driveway while kiddo has been peacefully sleeping the night away, so as to determine what time I will really have to get up and shovel. Again. I have started paying all the bills at once so that I don't neglect to meet my obligations in a timely fashion. If you drive by my house at 1 am, the likelihood that all the lights will be on and I will be slumped over, sleeping in a Spanish novel, is good.

I made my bed, I try to handle it the best I can.

Until this morning. This morning, as I turned on the lights and went to my usual corner of the living room to curl my hair (I do this so I can catch some early morning tunes without waking the boy) I heard something. Fear instantly pierced my body, as it does every single time I hear an unexpected noise in my home and realize, for the umpteenth time, that I am alone in this house and have a 4-year-old relying on me for protection.

I wait.

Scratch, scratch. Scratch, scratch.

Seriously?? A mouse. IN MY GARBAGE.

So what do I do, oh independent me.

I call my ex-husband. At 6:45 in the morning. To tell him there is a mouse in the garbage cupboard.

Um, not really his problem.

He calms me down; I'm near hysterics. I've not once called him like this since we split up. He rationally tells me that I will have to get some mouse traps after work, he can help me set them up.

Maybe we all need someone to lean on. Maybe independence is great, but knowing that someone will be there to catch you if you fall is even greater.

I'll be going to Meijer on my lunch break.