From the category archives:
Because today was Benjamin’s first and his last third birthday and because I didn’t buy him a single present in Austin I spent my lunch break on a mission.
My mission was to buy everything I would need to transform his room from a nursery/toddler room…
[Click to continue, although, be warned - there are TONS of photos in this post and a video - although I think you won't believe what you see. I still can't believe I pulled it off]
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Bringing my friend Mia’s story of becoming a single mother to this blog has inspired me to share more stories of single parents, all of whom - as it turns out - are very close friends of mine.
There’s Julie who is braving that big bad dating world again after over one year of getting over her ex who cheated (like Mia’s). She also works from home with her gorgeous daughter, Zoe, and is fighting the good fight right now to make all of their ends meet.
There’s Justin who fell in love with a single mom and her son. Despite their break up two years ago he is still very much the boy’s father. In fact, he spends far more time with his ex-girlfriend’s son than my ex-husband spends with Benjamin. It’s truly amazing.
And then there’s Katie who reunited with her ex-husband two years after their divorce. He never gave up on her and in the end it paid off. And now they’re planning a wedding. I’m so happy for both of them I just can’t stand it… I also had a little hand in pushing them back together (maybe she’ll explain that one).
Each of these single parents are dear, dear friends of mine. Their stories are coming up over the next few months… but first I want to share this one with you.
I have never met Isabelle.
And I’m not sure if I ever will. She lives in Australia but somehow found my blog when she was pregnant and uncertain about how she would manage as a single mom. [click to continue…]
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I got a text message at 5:27 a.m. this morning from Benjamin’s father.
“So not coming.”
That’s all it said. No reason why. Nothing. Normally I would have rolled back over and kept sleeping but given that tonight is date night I shot up like a bullet.
“Why? He is expecting you,” I texted back.
Nothing.
Twenty minutes later I call him.
“I’m sick, I’ve been puking all night,” he says.
A wave of memories hits me - the sick days I’ve had with Benjamin, the long voyages to the store or to grandma’s nauseated as hell.
“That’s bull shit,” I said.
Then he hung up the phone.
When Benjamin woke up I had to break the news. He’s been expecting him lately, more than ever because he’s getting older and is now much more aware of Daddy’s presence or absence, whichever it is that week. He took it like a champ and gobbled down his cereal but I know tonight he’ll be crying for him. [click to continue…]
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He hadn’t waited too long to call. On Wednesday morning I found a blinking voice mail on my office phone. I never get calls at work (I’m a writer) so I knew it was him.
“Hi, it’s (man yet to be named) from the plane. I just wanted to see how you were. And I’d like to take you to dinner on Thursday night, so if you’re interested just give me a call.”
Sweet. Very sweet. And that took guts. I like guts. And manners. Very much a gentlemen. But Thursday night. No way. Or Friday, Saturday or even Monday night for that matter. He would have to wait until Tuesday to see me again and I’d have to tell him why.
Besides I despise beating around the bush or hiding anything. I also like to rip open my presents or any package - even if there’s nothing good inside - just because I like opening them. It’s weird. If you ever want to torture me just dangle a fresh Federal Express box in front of my face. I’ll freak out.
So I just told him.
“I’d love to have dinner with you,” I said when I called, “but Thursday night won’t work for me, it will have to be Tuesday. My schedule is kind of weird. I didn’t realize until we’d went our separate ways at the airport but I completely forgot to tell you that I’m a single mom. I have a three-year-old son.” [click to continue…]
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Especially when she’s leaving on a fun weekend escapade in six days (more on that later).
Unable to find a sitter, I decided earlier this week (thanks to my Twitter peeps) to just take Benjamin to the salon with me. The place, right down the street from our apartment, is an industrial type of salon and also doubles as a barber shop. Not your average frou frou place and being edgy and alternative I figured Benjamin would be welcome there. I’ve also been going there for four years, maybe more.
I even asked when I made my appointment - just to be sure, “Is it okay if I bring my two-year-old with me?”
“Of course!”
I packed up a book, a few toys, a coloring book with crayons and some treats and we headed to the salon. After my shampoo and two minutes into the actual cut (half of my hair was 2.5 inches shorter than the rest) the salon owner came up to me and told me very shortly, “Is there anyway you can do anything about this? We can’t have him running around like this.”
I said, “I can try.”
But I knew it was impossible. Hell, I was just happy Benjamin wasn’t throwing a tantrum or breaking things. From my point of view, his crawling around beneath my legs and gabbing with salon patrons was excellent behavior. Given this, if half my hair weren’t gone I would have walked out that moment.
So the hair cut went on and so did Benjamin - my little rascal.
See him there on the floor… being sweet and having fun.
The entire time I’m now very well aware of the owner’s glare.
From the front of the small shop and even while she sat in the back and ate her lunch, she was scowling and shaking her head. The rest of the staff members, including my stylist, were incredibly cool about it - playing with him, picking up his crayons when he dropped them in the middle of the floor, telling me it was “cool” and “not to worry.”
In the meantime I’m realizing painfully that my son is not ready for a hair salon. I feel bad, actually, and decide that this won’t be happening again– for years. I even consider tipping everyone in the place.
One hour later my hair cut is finished and I jump out of the chair.
“Time to go Benjamin, c’mon baby.”
I’m paying, gathering my stuff - frantically almost. I just wanted to get the hell out of there.
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We’ve been in some kind of a deep freeze for weeks now and I made the big mistake of checking the weather forecast today — and it’s not good. This cold snap isn’t going anywhere. Which means I have to spend another weekend inside with little Benjamin.
I’m running on fumes, tired as hell lately and have exhausted all indoor entertainment options. He’s even bored with his new easel. I could sit here and bitch about the following things a single mom must endure in the absence of a man such as; freezing my ass off every morning while I de-ice my car, paying yet another outrageous heating bill solo or having to haul my garbage out in the middle of the night only to come back inside with frozen snot and a shudder like no other.
But all of the above pales in comparison to this cold hard miserable fact –
While the world is crumbling around us — something I spend an incredible amount of time fretting over — while people are clearly suffering, I am sitting here day dreaming about a snowless day when I can wear my new boots again.
I should burn in hell. Immediately.
But when a girl doesn’t have a man - especially when she has a little man - nothing makes her feel better than hot ass new boots. Hell. Told you. Hell. Don’t worry, my day will come but I’m bringing the boots with me.
—-
Last weekend after I wrote this post I woke up on Sunday morning and realized our entire day was free. Then I had a brilliant idea.
“Hey Benjamin - let’s go sledding!”
“What Mommy?”
“Sledding. You know. Oh, you don’t, do you? Okay, hold on - let me show you.”
I pulled up a YouTube video of a kid sledding.
“See, you sit on the sled and go whizzing down a hill.”
He got the picture and we were out the door in a flash (a minor miracle, usually there’s at least 15 minutes of protest).
We ran through Target shouting, “SLEDS! SLEDS! Where are the sleds?!!!!!!”
That was fun. The best part about motherhood - not giving a shit what anyone thinks, well, for me anyway. If he’s happy, I could care less. And sometimes I have to act like a raging lunatic to make him happy. And besides kids like lunatics who scream. They can relate.
Twenty minutes later we pulled up to the little sledding hill. We lost his mittens weeks ago so I put some socks on his hands. He thought it was cool. And then surrounded by all of the dutiful fathers on the hill - no mothers in sight - Benjamin and I whizzed down that hill.
And I screamed my ass off.
It was unbelievable. We went again and again and again until Benjamin’s sock mittens failed him and we had to jump back in the car.
These father jobs are actually pretty cool. I’ll have to start learning even more.
Just wish I could do them all in my sexy boots.
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It happens.
But lately it hasn’t really been my life I’ve been caught up in.
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First there’s that Matt guy - one of the most incredible people I’ve ever met.
There’s a reason why his blog has touched the hearts of hundreds and thousands… he is the real deal - a hero in his own right. The ultimate father, the ultimate husband, the ultimate human being.
I spent Saturday night making this video… and as I dug for pictures of Liz in Matt’s Flickr account the tears welled up in my eyes, the lump in my throat. I wished I wasn’t making it at all. I wished none of us even knew him - just so he and Madeline could have her back again. Why is life so damn cruel? And why do the worst things always happen to the best people?
On Thursday night Matt and I were eating at a very odd late night cafe in Chicago.
“It won’t ever go away,” I told him, “It will just turn into this massive scar or like a third arm or something that you have to carry around all of the time. But no one else will ever be able to see it, that’s the shitty part.”
He just nodded. Those beautiful eyes of his filled with the kind of pain no one should have to feel.
Between sporadic conversations about death - a subject I’m all too familiar with - we just had fun, pure fun.
Here’s Matt and my buddy Luke in the back of Jessica’s car. A single mom’s car… we thought it was funny.
Chicago is grand. Matt is grand. And I think, on some twisted and fucked up level, we are kindred spirits. I’ve actually been quite high on that fact for a few days now.
Making new friends is a very, very good thing.
So is traveling.
And there will be more of both in the very near future.
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After pulling in from Chicago I spent a few hours in my apartment and then dashed over to Mia’s.
No longer playing Monopoly or roller skating in her basement, we were sitting in her very adult living room while her daughter slept upstairs talking about how in the hell she is going to get through this.
The pain Mia is experiencing is so familiar, yet so distant. Mine didn’t cheat on me but he hurt me… some men leave their women for another woman, others stay and ram it into their heads day after day. My words didn’t help much but I felt my presence would.
So I slept on her couch. [click to continue…]
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Benjamin has a severe flu - puking, puking and puking.
We had to go to the grocery store today. Had to… there were things we needed like saltines, popsicles and sorbert ice cream. He nearly puked in the cart. I made this video after we got home and he passed out.
(Thought you all would like to see my vulnerable side, because I do have one - we all do).
P.S. Benjamin is improving, so no worries, but he’s still very, very sick.
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I just want you to know that I’m reading each and every one of your comments.
There are just so many that if I can’t respond to them all, I’d rather not respond to any. Is that crazy? But know this - I am reading each and every one and loving them all. More than loving, your comments are better than vitamins.
Especially in the Ultimate Single Mom Contest - the comments are absolutely amazing. If you haven’t left a comment yet, do it today because I’m drawing a name Thursday night for a free iHeartSingleParents t-shirt. I’ll announce the winner on Monday with a video. Benjamin will be pulling a name out of a hat.
I am also trying to find the time to make my next advice video (have to come up with a name for them, if you have any ideas, let me know). Over 400 of you have watched the first video on How to Get Over Your Ex so either, you’re all laughing at me or you like it - regardless, I’ll be making more… soon.
Back to the busy thing. Over the course of the past few months I have discovered more single mom blogs than I can count. There’s no way to tell for certain, but I think the single parent blogosphere is exploding.
Each of these posts had me at hello. Seriously, get clicking.
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Forget the skyrocketing grocery prices that make me clench my jaw and actually tighten my grip on the shopping cart handle- the grocery store is my enemy anyway. It’s the ultimate test of my will and my skills as a single mother. It’s such an odd place too. All of these people, all needing the same thing, something we would die without
Usually any mention of the store invokes a barrage of protests from Benjamin. Poor kid. He always has to go. No dad to stay home with. But tonight, after 2.8 years of going to the store together, something amazing happened.
“We have to go to the store, Benjamin - to get food!” I always say it enthusiastically, trying to get him excited about it, faking my own dread.
“Okay Mommy, let go to tha stouh fo food.”
Say what? Really. Was I hallucinating? There might be a chance, I thought, that we’ll have our first flawless grocery experience.
When he got situated behind the wheel of his car shopping cart we took off into the produce section.
“Drive Benjamin! Drive!”
“Okay Mommy! I’m driving! Look!” The car cart is massive. And so loud. But I love it because inside is the cutest little boy on Earth.
I’m cheering him on, grabbing whatever I can, as quickly as I can. I feel like one of those contestants on that shopping game show from the 80’s.
We made it as far as the tomatoes before he jumped out.
I remember the first time Benjamin broke free from me in a grocery store. He was just over 16-months-old. As soon as his feet hit the ground he just started running down the aisle, screaming some kind of Braveheart freedom cry. He didn’t touch a single thing on the shelves he just ran and ran. I had to let him do it - to deny him this kind of pleasure would just be wrong.
But now my little baby is a little boy and he’s jumped out of the cart just to piss me off. [click to continue…]
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