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On healing a broken heart.

mssinglemama — Sun, 11 Dec 2011 14:29:03 +0000

The auditorium is full. We have all been called here for a special event, an hour assembly featuring a guest speaker.

A woman walked onto the stage with a man. The two were here to tell us about sex, or I should say – to tell us why we shouldn’t have sex. After the man showed us a photo of an aborted fetus the woman took another tact. She wanted to talk about what sex does to your heart.

“Let me tell you about a girl named Sally,” she said. “This here in my hands,” she holds up a giant red heart cut out of construction paper, “this is Sally’s heart. And one day Sally decides to have sex with Dave and then a piece of her heart is ripped and broken.”

She rips off a piece of the heart.

She keeps going through Sally’s sexual history until there is nothing left except for a tiny scrap of paper in her hands.

“And after all of them, this is all Sally had left. Because every time you have sex with someone, they take a piece of your heart and you will never have it back.”

We all filed out of the auditorium to our respective classrooms where we were then expected to then concentrate on our teacher and our classwork.

The woman’s illustration has never left me. And every time another relationship of mine ended I thought of her, up on the stage, laughing at me – pointing and saying, “I told you so.”

And for years I thought she was right. But now I’ve realized that she was only partially right.

Yes, my heart has been broken apart into a million pieces. Shattered entirely in fact. And not just once, but several times in my life. Most recently, last Christmas. It’s been coming back in waves, memories hitting me. The shock afterwards, the days when I couldn’t even stand without shaking. Everything was perfectly fine and then it wasn’t. He was there and then he wasn’t.

But afterwards my heart started healing.

That’s the part the woman on the stage didn’t tell us that day. That we each have the power within to heal ourselves and our hearts. And eventually, even the scars begin to fade away.

It’s hard to carry. It is. The baggage of past relationships come with you into the new. But fortunately, I can talk about it all with him. Every detail, every hurt. He does the same and by talking about it we are honest with each other and what we are bringing with us. In that way, we can help each other to heal.

And right now, my heart is beaming.

Fire in the hole

mssinglemama — Fri, 13 Aug 2010 03:17:10 +0000

“Are we still in Ohio?” Benjamin calls from the back seat.

“Yes, we’re still in Ohio but we’re not in Columbus anymore. We’re almost to Athens. Your Daddy will be there, at the gas station in just a few minutes.”

During our bi-weekly hand-offs I try to mask any emotion other than, of course, pure Mommy delight. I never want Benjamin to feel any guilt for loving his father as much as his mother, for wanting each of us just as badly. We’re meeting at a gas station because even though Benjamin can tell me exactly how to get to his father’s house, deep in the back hills of Athens County, I know I’d get lost on the way back out.

Benjamin sees his Dad before I do and starts howling from the back seat, “Daddy! Daddy!” Their bond is solid now, far beyond anything I could ever control.

I am driving Benjamin down because his father can’t drive up to pick him up anymore, for reasons I can’t get into here – but keeping them apart is no longer an option. So, I bite my lip. I smile, exchange a few nicities. I hand over his bags. I hug my son so tight he screams at me to “let go”. After I do I stand up, walk to my car and drive away. That five minutes feels like fifteen and the only thing that makes it all right is seeing Benjamin’s smiling face from the back seat of his father’s car, with a wave and then a few kisses he blows my way.

I have an absolutely astonishing, bright and happy boy and his father is a part of that equation. It’s taken us a while to get here, but now I can’t imagine a world for Benjamin without his father there.

—–

A few hours later John Bear and I are sipping margaritas on the patio of our favorite Mexican place. He always manages to talk me into a dinner out, even though we should be saving every cent. The little luxuries though, these are what we work for, he says. And it works. Like a charm. We compliment each other in this way. I bring him far enough into my frugal zone and he pulls me out of it just enough.

This tug and pull translates into just about every aspect of our lives. I’m hotheaded, he’s cool. He tires easily, I can never relax. We always end up somewhere in the middle.

“I miss Benjamin already,” I say. He’ll be at his Dad’s for another week this time because school is out again.

“I understand,” he says.

“No you don’t! You love it when he’s gone,” I tease.

“Alright fine, maybe I do enjoy it a little.” Admissions come easily from John. Another thing I love about him – his honesty, almost as raw as mine but not nearly as abrasive. I raise my eyebrow at this and say, “I knew it!”

“Well, come on. It’s not like we get much alone time.”

“True, this is true.”

A few minutes later a couple led by a screaming toddler walks past our patio table. Twenty minutes earlier they had walked in, bright and happy – ready to bravely attempt a family date night, in a crowded restaurant.

John shakes his head in sympathy as the father picks up the boy who is now screaming even louder.

“I used to look at that before differently, now I’m just like ‘Been there, done that.’”

And then, without hesitation, John Bear uttered a phrase I used to tell him, “People without kids just don’t get it.”

I lower my eyes and start sipping my margarita, trying to hide the astonishment on my face. The way he said that, so casually. These are the little things that still manage take me aback. Because they amount to one big, giant, colossal thing – John has completely embraced Benjamin and I, tantrums and all. We are becoming a blended family.

—–

A few minutes after we finish our margaritas we get a phone call that the Cement Marketing offices were on fire. No serious damage. Unless, of course, you’re this door.

Or this window

And now, I know exactly what John Bear will be like when driving me to the hospital when/if I’m ever in labor again.

Me: “Don’t go so fast. You’re going to kill someone.”

John: “I’m trying to get us there as fast as I can and I’m not going to kill anyone.”

Me: “Watch out for that old lady. That poor old lady. She wasn’t doing anything wrong!”

John: “You need to calm down.”

Me: “Do you want a piece of gum?”

John: “No! I do not want a piece of gum.”

Me: “Geez. What’s wrong?”

John: “Nothing. Nothing. I’m just trying to drive. What? Are you laughing? Seriously? Dude, this is serious.”

Me: “I know, but you’re so funny right now. Look at you, you’re driving like a maniac.”

We got there a few minutes later and waited for about twenty minutes before getting confirmation that our front office room, the room with all of our equipment – and, most importantly, my external hard drive with Benjamin’s baby pictures were unscathed. The fire started out on the roof and creeped into the entryway and our entry window, but aside from that no serious damage inside of our office.

Overdue

mssinglemama — Sun, 15 Nov 2009 22:24:38 +0000

This weekend – the first of Benjamin’s “every other” weekends with his father – John Bear and I had two nights and one full day of long overdue us time.

We haven’t had a weekend solo since our trip to the Poconos and New York City in August… and given all of the stress I’ve been under lately with the new job, the family drama, Benjamin’s new school and life in general I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to mellow out enough to just enjoy him.

But I did. And we did – enjoy each other. Immensely. For 36 hours.

Being with my boyfriend, not as a mother and a girlfriend but just as a girlfriend, is hard to describe – but it’s one of those things any mother can appreciate, tapping into your inner-girlfriend. It’s essential to our survival.

I haven’t had time to label them yet, but check out my Fall 2009 Photo Album for a ton of new pictures from this weekend. Start here with this photo, to see the most recent. [We were in Cleveland - John Bear's hometown and my new favorite spot on Earth - love that city. If you live there let me know.]

The hero deadbeat?

mssinglemama — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 01:47:45 +0000

Have you heard about the April Baker story yet?

If not, here’s the gist – woman (April Baker) Googles herself and finds a website built by her biological father (Dr. Scott Becker) asking her to contact him. After 30 years apart, the two were reunited with camera crews playing witness (see a picture here).

As all loving reunions are, it’s a beautiful story. But, naturally, when I read it, I wanted to know more. Like, say, oh – why there needed to be a reunion in the first place. But every article I found focused on the Google search angle, the happy reunion but I couldn’t find a single mention of why Dr. Baker had been M.I.A. for 30 years.

I did some digging and finally found a brief explanation as to why April’s father wasn’t in her life to begin with. This is all it says:

April Becker’s parents separated after a fight. April Becker was a baby when her mother left her father and she never knew her father, Doctor Scott Becker.

Her mother left her father after a fight. I can relate to that one and it wasn’t pretty.

We don’t know the entire story. Perhaps Dr. Becker tried to reach out but April’s mother had disappeared. Maybe April’s mom was completely nuts and Dr. Baker showed up one day with the wrong color flowers and she decided to up and leave with baby in hand. But as a single mom, I know the odds of that are slim. Chances are he just wasn’t around. So now, decades later, he feels remorse, wants to connect and he is a hero?

I want to like the guy.

I really do. And I love this story. Who wouldn’t? It’s a happy story. But there’s still a huge part of me wanting to ask the obvious question to Dr. Becker – “So, where in the Hell were you?”

Maybe there are more articles or stories about this out there. Am I missing something? Fill me in. I think Dr. Baker, at the least, should issue a statement telling deadbeat dads why they should cut it out and step up.

He could be the national anti-deadbeat dad spokesman!

My question to all of you (on the eve of a day of dealing with the my non child support paying ex) is how do you deal with the idealization of papa issues your kids may have? How do you think you’ll handle these issues in the future?

And where is Mrs. Ex Dr. Scott Baker? What does she think about this?

The Trip Story: Part 3

mssinglemama — Sun, 23 Aug 2009 15:22:54 +0000

John Bear jumped out of bed at 7:00 am to feed Fiesta Dave’s meter.

We’d parked in a haze of exhaustion. After spending the entire day in New York City we hit a monstrous traffic jam on the way into Philadelphia. Between reading our iPhone maps and asking cab drivers which turn to take next we couldn’t help but notice the city surrounding us. Smartly dressed couples walked slowly down the sidewalks but it was the magnificent buildings, many of which bore witness to the birth of our nation, that commanded our attention. Our heads zig zagged from the left and to the right, taking it all in and feeling immediately humbled.

“Now this is my kind of city,” I had said as we pulled into our fortunate meter directly in front of the hotel. Minutes later we were fast asleep, barely able to roll over and kiss each other good night. In the morning I felt like someone had hit me square in the head with a sledge hammer. I knew this kind of headache. A smoker’s headache. It must have been the New York City smog or something. Or maybe the stale air in the hotel room. I wasn’t sure but I did know one thing – I needed caffeine, immediately.

“Can you grab me some coffee while you’re out there?” I mumbled to John Bear as he ran out the door.

“Yeah, no problem.”

That’s the thing about John – he’ll do just about anything for me at any time of day or night without complaint. Because of this fact, I reserve the asking only for special occasions. This was definitely one of them.

“We should get going,” he said when he came back in, the door slapping loudly behind him and the hot coffee in his hands.

“Why the rush?”

“You should see it out there. It’s awesome.”

And in less than 20 minutes later I was able to completely agree with him.

We found Philadelphia much slower paced, more our style and could have stayed all day but we had to get back on the road. My ex had called earlier to tell me Benjamin was really “missing Mommy.”

Just minutes after leaving the city I called my little brother, Eliot, to check in on his wedding. Just a few days away now, he was telling me about something pretty important when I hit a gargantuan pothole on the Pennsylvania Turnpike’s Toll Plaza. It wasn’t even a pothole, more like a chasm or a crater. I screamed and my brother heard it all go down.

“What the F*&% was that?”

“I don’t know,” snapped John, “Just get back over into the other lane.”

“Oh my God, that couldn’t have been good.” I said into the phone.

“Hello?”

“Oh, sorry El. Listen, I gotta go. We’ll talk later.”

One hour later after John had been driving for a bit I took over again. But before we even got out of the parking lot I pulled over.

“There’s something wrong with the car,” I said. “It feels totally weird.”

I jumped out to check the tires and found the right front tire completely flat. After a few calls to Ford Fiesta Movement Mission Control they decided to put us up in a Bed & Breakfast in the nearest town while we waited for a new tire to be shipped over. My model of the Fiesta takes custom summer tires, not stocked readily at every Ford Dealership in the country — so, we were stuck, indefinitely, until the tire arrived.

The Fiesta had landed in Bedford, Pennsylvania – the home to George Washington’s headquarters during the Whiskey Rebellion but the place is best known for its healing springs. We made our way up into the Bed and Breakfast, Oralee’s Golden Eagle Inn. John knocked on the door, once, twice and then three times. A few slow country minutes later, Oralee herself greeted us at the door.

And led us up through the upstairs screened in porch

to our room

As soon as we dropped our bags John Bear cued up a scene from Groundhog Day on his computer and started laughing.

“Stop it, at least we have the Internet,” I said, “Besides you don’t have to be at work until Friday.”

“Yeah, but this place gives me the creeps.”

“It’s not creepy, it’s just old and it’s so romantic,” then I think I pummeled him with a kiss because he didn’t complain about our extra night of vacation again. And when Oralee whipped us up a breakfast fit for a King, I think John Bear came around to the charm of the Golden Eagle Inn.

Turns out the Mission Control people are just as awesome as their car because the tire arrived at Bedford’s Ford Dealership soon after our breakfast. The Bedford Ford guys there were so excited to see the Fiesta they had to test it out. Brian jumped in first.

But can you blame him? Really? Have you seen this car?

I forget sometimes how lucky I am to be driving one.

After whizzing by Cumberland, Maryland we zipped down to West Virginia and then up into Athens, Ohio where we found my little Benjamin. When his father handed him over to me he was barely even using words, just mumbling and crying out for me. My heart sank into my feet as the guilt fell over me. Once a year I leave him with his father for longer than his standard 36 hour visit and every time I do, I regret it terribly. His hair was a mess, his hands and face were covered in dirt. Back on the road again and on our way to a restaurant, I looked at John Bear as this boy in the back seat growled and hissed at me, literally, and then said through tears, “Where is he? Where is my Benjamin?” I wish I was making this up.

His father loves him and Benjamin loves his father, but Jesus, when will he learn how to care for his son properly? When the food came Benjamin devoured every bite, actually filling both of his little fists and stuffing them both into his mouth simultaneously. His father is unemployed again, I haven’t had a penny of child support in two months now and I wonder out loud if he has money for groceries.

I continue in my thoughts, some in my head and some out loud. Maybe I’m just the mess and I’m being overly paranoid. Maybe Benjamin had been playing outside in the dirt and had also skipped his lunch. And maybe he was just acting like this because he was copying the actions of his six-year-old semi step-brother. Suddenly I remember John is bearing witness to this entire mess, my mess. The one I bear responsibility for every day of my life – wearing it proudly but also wondering, often, if I even know what I am doing.

Typically I would rather hide than allow someone else to see my scars so wide out in the open like this but unlike any other man I’ve been with, John has never once asked me, “Why were you with that guy? Why did you marry him?” He doesn’t live in the past or hold mine against me in any way, and for that I will always love him.

We arrived in Columbus as the sun set over the skyline. John Bear snapped this blurry picture

and then we were home, but not for long.

After only one full day back we were off again… this time to Athens and my brother’s wedding. Little did we know the snafu of all snafus was waiting for us, and that John and I would finally reach our breaking points.

Get a sneak peek with pictures in the wedding photo album. I haven’t labeled the photos on purpose.

Catch up:

The wow factor.

mssinglemama — Mon, 27 Apr 2009 02:47:36 +0000

There are few material things that ever really wow me.

Here are two.

Benjamin’s new “water boots”.

For the first time in three years Benjamin’s father bought him a pair of shoes.

He had no way of knowing this but I’ve been trying to find a cool pair of puddle stomping boots for months. But they never had Benjamin’s size or they were just too cartoony. These are perfect.

We’re about to enter week three of our two nights a week arrangement and with each week my ex is being more responsive, more engaged as a father and even more attentive to my concerns and my needs. I’m not over analyzing it, wondering why now or what next. I’m just enjoying this and fanning the flames of hope.

The future doesn’t have to be so frightening. I make it frightening as a defense mechanism. It’s a bad habit to break but I’m working on it.

My Ford Fiesta.

I am absolutely divinely head over heels in love with my new ride.

I just got home last night but Benjamin and I were out and about all day cruising.

Now I’m wiped out.

I have a lot of video to edit, some posts to write and a secret self-induced single mama mission to tell you about. I just had to go rogue and get a jump start on this whole mission thing. The story will have to wait until I sleep and catch up on everything else.

Until then check out my Fiesta Movement Training Flickr pictures. Start with this picture of me on Lake Michigan in Chicago. Sigh. Then head over to Morgan’s Flickr of the trip because she is actually a photographer. Her shots are, as usual, out of this world.

Father Figure

mssinglemama — Thu, 09 Apr 2009 01:22:49 +0000

Maybe I gave up.

Maybe I just didn’t want to hear another “I can’t” or “I’ll try” – each one cutting a bit deeper than the last.

But somewhere along the way I just stopped.

I stopped asking my ex-husband to spend more time – time outside of his 36 hours a week – with our son.

So I’m not sure why, when Benjamin refused to let go of his father this afternoon, I said, “he needs you now, more than ever – maybe you should spend more time with him.”

And then, the reply came that I’ve been wanting to hear for three years, “Yeah, maybe I should keep him two nights a week. I’m working the night shift now on Thursday so I could keep him Wednesday night and bring him to day care on Thursday morning.”

“But if you do that,” I said, “if you commit to spending more time with him you have to be around. You can’t be moving, to Chicago or anywhere.”

“You say that,” he said, “But I think you’ll be the one who moves.”

He had a point.

We’re both transient spirits and even though I have no intention of moving right now, there’s no predicting what the future holds for either of us.

Who am I after all of these years of daydreaming for him to take Benjamin more often to deny them that time together? He may not be the most supportive ex-husband financially or emotionally but he does love his son – immensely – and he’s always loved him as best as he knows how.

“I’ll think about it, okay. I’ll let you know.”

So I’m thinking about it.

Thinking about what it would be like to have an ex who steps up more often and wondering if he was really serious. I’m also, of course, hoping some of you will make sense of this for me.

Can men, as fathers, change? Could it just be a lot easier for my ex because Benjamin is a boy now, not a toddler or a baby?

For more posts on my ex and my take on our relationship as co-parents read on:

When the long lost father resurfaces.

mssinglemama — Thu, 12 Feb 2009 03:40:31 +0000

Most of you know her, but for those who don’t – Morgan aka Modern Single Momma - is a light and guiding force for single parents.

After telling her child’s father about her pregnancy he split. Completely split. He hasn’t even met his son. And now he is threatening to take her to court for custody.

It’s every single mothers worst nightmare and now, just days after arriving in Kentucky with her amazing man and her son, Lucca (that’s a photo they took on their road trip from Portland) this is happening.

For those of you who don’t know Morgan is the co-founder of iHeartSingleParents.com – the first social network just for us. She created the site along with her best friend Clare for one reason – to build a place for modern single moms and dads. She is, without a doubt, one of our greatest ambassadors.

Please visit her blog for the entire story and lend your support, advice or whatever you can muster.

She’s freaking out – as any of us would be.

Would you date yourself?

mssinglemama — Wed, 04 Feb 2009 18:55:31 +0000

This is a really, really good question.

One of you posted this comment on my Facebook page and I couldn’t resist bringing it to the table here. Take the children out of the picture. Just look at yourself – would you date you? (This question applies to those of us in relationships as well).

The night I met Mr. Man my mother and I were polishing our faces and choosing outfits in her room – just a few feet away from the bed where my father died, the same bed I had found myself in on a hot summer night in 2006.

My son, just four-months-old, was curled up into my chest wanting to eat but finding no milk. The stress of the day had left me dry, my breasts completely empty.

A few hours earlier I had nestled him into his car seat surrounded by boxes and laundry baskets of stuff, the only stuff I would have at my mother’s house for the next year. The rest – in the U-Haul – would go to storage until I could find a job and an apartment again. Everything I had worked for in life, every object, seemed completely unnecessary. I just wanted freedom and above all, a safe place for Benjamin.

Nothing else mattered.

The tears were impressive that night and so were the immense feelings of fear and shock – wondering, “How in the hell am I going to do this?” I had left it all behind. My job. My apartment. My friends. I had no money. And now, no breast milk.

Somehow I woke up the next morning with hope and some milk, just enough – not much, but just enough – to get by. Gradually the hope grew and so did Benjamin – inch by inch, piece by piece, laugh by laugh. And on this night, nearly three years later I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and smiled.

Sure the baby weight was gone (all 80 lbs of it) but I had also lost the bitter feelings, the regret, the self-loathing, the worry and felt for the first time that I had finally become who I wanted to be – someone I never imagined I would be, a mother, but also a woman who can take just about anything life throws at her and survive.

And then, as I put on my mom’s red leather coat and let the excitement of the impending night out rush over me, I thought – “I’m totally dating myself and this is awesome. I like me. I like myself again.”

I’ll never forget that moment – ever. I had made it.

Now granted, I met Mr. Man a few hours later but unlike in the past I was not vulnerable. And not once did Benjamin feel the sting of a break up, or see mommy “lose it.” Not once.

I did not lose myself.

I am still discovering who I am, as a mother and as a single woman. I learn something new every day – it seems. But I do know that I can safely say that now, yes, I would date myself.

What about you? Would you date yourself? What are the issues you’re trying to beat in this moment?

Mia’s Story, Part I

mssinglemama — Wed, 07 Jan 2009 01:38:19 +0000

My blog is her blog.

And until she starts her own (which I think she may) Mia will be posting her story here.

As most of you know my best friend Mia just found out four weeks ago that her boyfriend of 6 years and the father of her daughter is leaving. Two weeks later she discovered that the catalyst is an affair with another woman.

Your comments – this picture is of her reading them intently – have helped her more than you know.

Night 1:

He is gone.

My house is empty.

Literally.

No Couch, no clothes in his closet, just gone.

There was no big talk, no special ceremony, nothing to mark his leaving. Just an awkward hug and a goodbye. And then he left. And I stayed. With an empty heart I rocked Sydney in my arms in the middle of an empty room. I rocked her and she cried, and I cried, and she watched me cry and it made her cry harder.

Until recently she thought grown-ups only acted like they were crying when they played pretend with her. She said she was crying because she wanted her daddy to make magnets with her before he went – a gift she got from Santa.

But I knew she just wanted him, and I felt for the first time that I may not be enough.

I have already called him twice, ashamed of my need to hear his voice, hoping there would be sadness in it. But I’ll go to bed and the lack of response from him will make me feel left over and over again – twice tonight and a million times to come.

I know it is partly (mostly) my ego that causes me to obsess about her and wonder if he is with her. I don’t feel he deserves to have someone to help shoulder the pain of this and it makes me jealous, and that makes me feel weak.

But I am not weak, I am here and he’s not and I will rock myself and my daughter to sleep and be thankful we have each other. And she will come to know the weak man that I have lived with for years and made excuses for to everyone in my life– maybe not tonight but someday.

Morning 1:

First night accomplished but not without it’s hardships. Sydney woke up screaming a couple of hours ago having a nightmare that I was “leaving her”. I brought her in to my bed and we snuggled.

I can do this… I am finding my backbone.

—–

In honor or Mia’s backbone…

A Contest for Fresh Starts.

Apparently more people want me to give away their stuff… and you know how much I love giving stuff away. Coincidentally the prizes are all about new beginnings for single moms.

So after you leave a comment for Mia check out my Fresh Start Contest (it’s a good one).