Just some random thoughts

So I found out today, as I suspected, that my X is indeed "following" (insert the word "stalking") my blog.  Holy crap!  Why am I even writing this anymore?  Why have I not made this completely private and hidden away my life?  Because I refuse to let even one more peice of our normalcy be ruled by someone out of touch with himself and the world around him.  I refuse to live in fear. 

My kids and I live as normal a life as we can, given our circumstances.  In many cases, it may be more successful, more happy, more full of growth and great expectations than the lives of others I know.  I hope it is. 

Despite the fact that we are a one-parent household, we have been blessed with amazing friends, supportive relatives and the love and grace and hopefulness of God in our lives.  In three short months, we have settled nicely into a routine.  I am able to pick the kids up from school earlier than I did up in VA.  We sit down at our kitchen table and work through homework, review the day in general and talk about our upcoming week.  I fix dinner, the kids set the table, and we sit down to pray before eating.  We are silly and happy and eat our vegetables.  The kids and I are going to bed earlier, rising happier and feeling healthier than we have in years. 

We've banished electronics and tv to only 1 to 2 hours on a Friday or Saturday evening and the results have been mind boggling!  The kids are waking on weekend mornings and playing together for hours in ways I haven't seen them play together since infants.  They are being creative, and building and drawing and scheming and acting and helping and working together, because the TV and Kindles are no longer ruling their lives.

We have made pancakes and bacon and oatmeal and orange juice a tradition for breakfast on weekends.  My Dad always comes over and brings me a cup of coffee.  And Renton is making the pancakes himself!  (His specialty this morning was Bisquick with bran and cinnamon!  Yum!)

I guess what I am trying to say is that the light at the end of the tunnel may finally be growing a bit brighter.  Sometimes I lose sight of it because of the bumps in the road and the sabotage of the rails along the way, but I know that light is there because even in the darkness, I can feel its warmth and I can hear the happy giggles of my children.

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Single Moms are Crazy!

A single mom friend of mine just posting this article on her FB page Single Moms are Crazy! (If you haven't read it, you should.  And then you should spend a few minutes thinking about it.)

And I think to myself.  I certainly feel crazy A LOT.  But crazy fun? Crazy tired? Crazy stupid? Crazy insane? Crazy in need of  a seriously real vacation?

I happen to be having a particularly grumpy day today; feeling sorry for myself, and angry at the fact that every moment of my life uses every ounce of my patience and my energy and I rarely have a moment to really just relax on my own or go out and be social in a non-working, non-mom related scenario.  I know most moms feel this way, even if they are not single.  But I am single, and it adds a strange extra layer of meaning and implication to everything I do.  And some days I really, really, really hate it.

Here's a perfect example.  I just moved closer to my parents to get help with the kids (one of the reasons, anyway).  And they do help, so much, and in many ways.  But it's the kind of help most people are willing to give a single mom; the emergency help.  I can ask for help if it's a doctor appointment or because I have to go to court (for the one-hundredth time!), or to pick up an extra gallon of milk for me.   And do NOT get me wrong.  It is invaluable and precious help.  But no one ever really wants to help if it's just to allow me get out and "relax."  Then I get looked at like I'm being selfish, or I don't really "rate" getting a chance to relax because somehow it was my "fault" that I am parenting on my own . . .

These days, I struggle to work in a little, mini staycation a few evenings at home.  11pm, house is quiet, I forgo a shower, I forgo the ironing and the three loads of laundry waiting to be folded, I've done the dishes, I've made the snacks and the lunches and organized this week's legal documents into "response" piles.  I curl up on the couch and drink hot cocoa and eat pretzels and watch tv on Netflix.  I try to make this little bit of time force my brain and my senses and my emotions to relax.  So far, I think the trick is working.  But OH!  How I wish just one night, I could go out with a small group of friends or even a potential date, and just walk along and feel . . . happy to be something other than a persecuted single mom.

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Merry Mondays: Permission to Not Do Anything

A friend of mine recently explained to me that in her therapy, she has been told to work on giving herself permission to NOT DO ANYTHING.  I love this idea because when you are a single mom you don't get a whole lot of permission to just do nothing.

So . . . yesterday, I was feeling overwhelmed (what's new) with continued nonsense from the X (via lawyers), and work and life (when did all those damn wrinkles appear around my eyes?!)

I was then feeling pressured by my own new idea to use these structured posting topics for my blog (jury is still out on this one).

Yesterday I had late meetings at work, took the kids to Target to spend some of their allowance  (because I had pinky promised them for three days now), then took all three to a Cub Scout Jamboree (still not sure I need to add this to my plate too) and finally got home at 8:15pm.  We finalized homework, had snacks, brushed teeth, washed faces and hands, and got everyone nicely in to bed (honest!). 

Then, it occurred to me that I had neglected my Merry Monday post and I wasn't feeling especially Merry at the moment.

So . . . I gave myself permission to sit on the couch, eat pretzels, drink hot cocoa and watch reruns of Sherlock on Netflix (I am so totally hooked and I can't decide if I have a bigger crush on Sherlock or Watson). 

Permission to veg making for a Merry Monday?  Elementary, my Dear Watson.  Elementary.

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