Single Mom Dating Advice

Benjamin is racing in Trik-a-Thon tomorrow.

The day care just told me about it today, otherwise I would have taken the afternoon off to cheer him on. Maybe I should anyway. Benjamin is a world-class tricycle rider by the way. We ditched the stroller months ago. Now it’s a bike trip to the coffee shop and park every night.

He pumps his little legs furiously the entire way there, about a half of a mile. Inside, he zooms around on the wooden floors, brushing and swirving past the legs of the singles checking each other out. “Scuuz me,” he says, “SCUUZ ME!!”  He likes to repeat himself, louder always the second time around.

Yes, it’s quite a sight. My little birth control on a tricycle breaking everyone’s flirtatious mojo.

So tomorrow Benjamin will make his debut on a real race track. And here I have on my desk – a little pledge card. I have to donate a dollar amount for every lap he makes. The brochure says kids make 25 laps on average.

But knowing Benjamin, they’ll have to drag him off of the track kicking and screaming. He won’t go down without a fight – ever. Not if you’re standing between him and something he wants. And at this point his life those things include: Thomas the Train, his bike and his best friend Sydney. Oh, and me, I suppose.

He’s been kissing the hell out of me lately. He jumps on top of me – grabs my face and then starts kissing me, my cheeks, my nose. And he says, “I love you, Mommy. I LOVE YOU!!” Wonder where he learned that one from.

So who wants to guess Benjamin’s lap count? And how much should I pledge a lap? What’s standard? It’s a lonely pledge card by the way. That’s slightly embarassing isn’t it? I’m sure the other parents have like 10 million friends on theirs. Oh well.

This parenthood thing – the school thing – is going to be hilarious, because I don’t know what in the hell I’m doing, how I’m supposed to act. This should be fun. Another life adventure. Hell yeah, baby.

Benjamin is racing in Trik-a-Thon tomorrow.

The day care just told me about it today, otherwise I would have taken the afternoon off to cheer him on. Maybe I should anyway. Benjamin is a world-class tricycle rider by the way. We ditched the stroller months ago. Now it’s a bike trip to the coffee shop and park every night.

He pumps his little legs furiously the entire way there, about a half of a mile. Inside, he zooms around on the wooden floors, brushing and swirving past the legs of the singles checking each other out. “Scuuz me,” he says, “SCUUZ ME!!”  He likes to repeat himself, louder always the second time around.

Yes, it’s quite a sight. My little birth control on a tricycle breaking everyone’s flirtatious mojo.

So tomorrow Benjamin will make his debut on a real race track. And here I have on my desk – a little pledge card. I have to donate a dollar amount for every lap he makes. The brochure says kids make 25 laps on average.

But knowing Benjamin, they’ll have to drag him off of the track kicking and screaming. He won’t go down without a fight – ever. Not if you’re standing between him and something he wants. And at this point his life those things include: Thomas the Train, his bike and his best friend Sydney. Oh, and me, I suppose.

He’s been kissing the hell out of me lately. He jumps on top of me – grabs my face and then starts kissing me, my cheeks, my nose. And he says, “I love you, Mommy. I LOVE YOU!!” Wonder where he learned that one from.

So who wants to guess Benjamin’s lap count? And how much should I pledge a lap? What’s standard? It’s a lonely pledge card by the way. That’s slightly embarassing isn’t it? I’m sure the other parents have like 10 million friends on theirs. Oh well.

This parenthood thing – the school thing – is going to be hilarious, because I don’t know what in the hell I’m doing, how I’m supposed to act. This should be fun. Another life adventure. Hell yeah, baby.

Benjamin is racing in a Trik-a-Thon tomorrow.

The day care just told me about it today, otherwise I would have taken the afternoon off to cheer him on. Maybe I should anyway. Benjamin is a world-class tricycle rider by the way. We ditched the stroller months ago. Now it’s a bike ride to the coffee shop and park every night.

He pumps his little legs furiously the entire way there, about a half of a mile. Inside, he zooms around on the wooden floors, brushing and swirving past the legs of the singles checking each other out. “Scuuz me,” he says, “SCUUZ ME!!” He likes to repeat himself, louder always the second time around.

Yes, it’s quite a sight. My little birth control on a tricycle breaking everyone’s flirtatious mojo.

So tomorrow Benjamin will make his debut on a real race track. And here I have on my desk – a little pledge card. I have to donate a dollar amount for every lap he makes. The brochure says kids make 25 laps on average.

But knowing Benjamin, they’ll have to drag him off of the track kicking and screaming. He won’t go down without a fight – ever. Not if you’re standing between him and something he wants. And at this point in his life those things include: Thomas the Train, his bike and his best friend Sydney. Oh, and me, I suppose.

He’s been kissing the hell out of me lately. He jumps on top of me – grabs my face and then starts kissing me, my cheeks, my nose. And he says, “I love you, Mommy. I LOVE YOU!!” Wonder where he learned that one from.

So who wants to guess Benjamin’s lap count?

And how much should I pledge a lap? What’s standard? It’s a lonely pledge card by the way. That’s slightly embarassing isn’t it? I’m sure the other parents have like 10 million friends on theirs. Oh well.

This parenthood thing – the school thing – is going to be hilarious, because I don’t know what in the hell I’m doing, how I’m supposed to act. Should be fun. Another life adventure. Hell yeah, baby.

Benjamin is racing in Trik-a-Thon tomorrow.

The day care just told me about it today, otherwise I would have taken the afternoon off to cheer him on. Maybe I should anyway. Benjamin is a world-class tricycle rider by the way. We ditched the stroller months ago. Now it’s a bike trip to the coffee shop and park every night.

He pumps his little legs furiously the entire way there, about a half of a mile. Inside, he zooms around on the wooden floors, brushing and swirving past the legs of the singles checking each other out. “Scuuz me,” he says, “SCUUZ ME!!”  He likes to repeat himself, louder always the second time around.

Yes, it’s quite a sight. My little birth control on a tricycle breaking everyone’s flirtatious mojo.

So tomorrow Benjamin will make his debut on a real race track. And here I have on my desk – a little pledge card. I have to donate a dollar amount for every lap he makes. The brochure says kids make 25 laps on average.

But knowing Benjamin, they’ll have to drag him off of the track kicking and screaming. He won’t go down without a fight – ever. Not if you’re standing between him and something he wants. And at this point his life those things include: Thomas the Train, his bike and his best friend Sydney. Oh, and me, I suppose.

He’s been kissing the hell out of me lately. He jumps on top of me – grabs my face and then starts kissing me, my cheeks, my nose. And he says, “I love you, Mommy. I LOVE YOU!!” Wonder where he learned that one from.

So who wants to guess Benjamin’s lap count? And how much should I pledge a lap? What’s standard? It’s a lonely pledge card by the way. That’s slightly embarassing isn’t it? I’m sure the other parents have like 10 million friends on theirs. Oh well.

This parenthood thing – the school thing – is going to be hilarious, because I don’t know what in the hell I’m doing, how I’m supposed to act. This should be fun. Another life adventure. Hell yeah, baby.

Benjamin is racing in a Trik-a-Thon tomorrow.

The day care just told me about it today, otherwise I would have taken the afternoon off to cheer him on. Maybe I should anyway. Benjamin is a world-class tricycle rider by the way. We ditched the stroller months ago. Now it’s a bike ride to the coffee shop and park every night.

He pumps his little legs furiously the entire way there, about a half of a mile. Inside, he zooms around on the wooden floors, brushing and swirving past the legs of the singles checking each other out. “Scuuz me,” he says, “SCUUZ ME!!” He likes to repeat himself, louder always the second time around.

Yes, it’s quite a sight. My little birth control on a tricycle breaking everyone’s flirtatious mojo.

So tomorrow Benjamin will make his debut on a real race track. And here I have on my desk – a little pledge card. I have to donate a dollar amount for every lap he makes. The brochure says kids make 25 laps on average.

But knowing Benjamin, they’ll have to drag him off of the track kicking and screaming. He won’t go down without a fight – ever. Not if you’re standing between him and something he wants. And at this point in his life those things include: Thomas the Train, his bike and his best friend Sydney. Oh, and me, I suppose.

He’s been kissing the hell out of me lately. He jumps on top of me – grabs my face and then starts kissing me, my cheeks, my nose. And he says, “I love you, Mommy. I LOVE YOU!!” Wonder where he learned that one from.

So who wants to guess Benjamin’s lap count?

And how much should I pledge a lap? What’s standard? It’s a lonely pledge card by the way. That’s slightly embarassing isn’t it? I’m sure the other parents have like 10 million friends on theirs. Oh well.

This parenthood thing – the school thing – is going to be hilarious, because I don’t know what in the hell I’m doing, how I’m supposed to act. Should be fun. Another life adventure. Hell yeah, baby.

Benjamin is racing in Trik-a-Thon tomorrow.

The day care just told me about it today, otherwise I would have taken the afternoon off to cheer him on. Maybe I should anyway. Benjamin is a world-class tricycle rider by the way. We ditched the stroller months ago. Now it’s a bike trip to the coffee shop and park every night.

He pumps his little legs furiously the entire way there, about a half of a mile. Inside, he zooms around on the wooden floors, brushing and swirving past the legs of the singles checking each other out. “Scuuz me,” he says, “SCUUZ ME!!”  He likes to repeat himself, louder always the second time around.

Yes, it’s quite a sight. My little birth control on a tricycle breaking everyone’s flirtatious mojo.

So tomorrow Benjamin will make his debut on a real race track. And here I have on my desk – a little pledge card. I have to donate a dollar amount for every lap he makes. The brochure says kids make 25 laps on average.

But knowing Benjamin, they’ll have to drag him off of the track kicking and screaming. He won’t go down without a fight – ever. Not if you’re standing between him and something he wants. And at this point his life those things include: Thomas the Train, his bike and his best friend Sydney. Oh, and me, I suppose.

He’s been kissing the hell out of me lately. He jumps on top of me – grabs my face and then starts kissing me, my cheeks, my nose. And he says, “I love you, Mommy. I LOVE YOU!!” Wonder where he learned that one from.

So who wants to guess Benjamin’s lap count? And how much should I pledge a lap? What’s standard? It’s a lonely pledge card by the way. That’s slightly embarassing isn’t it? I’m sure the other parents have like 10 million friends on theirs. Oh well.

This parenthood thing – the school thing – is going to be hilarious, because I don’t know what in the hell I’m doing, how I’m supposed to act. Should be fun. Another life adventure. Hell yeah, baby.

Benjamin is racing in Trik-a-Thon tomorrow.

The day care just told me about it today, otherwise I would have taken the afternoon off to cheer him on. Maybe I should anyway. Benjamin is a world-class tricycle rider by the way. We ditched the stroller months ago. Now it’s a bike trip to the coffee shop and park every night.

He pumps his little legs furiously the entire way there, about a half of a mile. Inside, he zooms around on the wooden floors, brushing and swirving past the legs of the singles checking each other out. “Scuuz me,” he says, “SCUUZ ME!!”  He likes to repeat himself, louder always the second time around.

Yes, it’s quite a sight. My little birth control on a tricycle breaking everyone’s flirtatious mojo.

So tomorrow Benjamin will make his debut on a real race track. And here I have on my desk – a little pledge card. I have to donate a dollar amount for every lap he makes. The brochure says kids make 25 laps on average.

But knowing Benjamin, they’ll have to drag him off of the track kicking and screaming. He won’t go down without a fight – ever. Not if you’re standing between him and something he wants. And at this point his life those things include: Thomas the Train, his bike and his best friend Sydney. Oh, and me, I suppose.

He’s been kissing the hell out of me lately. He jumps on top of me – grabs my face and then starts kissing me, my cheeks, my nose. And he says, “I love you, Mommy. I LOVE YOU!!” Wonder where he learned that one from.

So who wants to guess Benjamin’s lap count? And how much should I pledge a lap? What’s standard? It’s a lonely pledge card by the way. That’s slightly embarassing isn’t it? I’m sure the other parents have like 10 million friends on theirs. Oh well.

This parenthood thing – the school thing – is going to be hilarious, because I don’t know what in the hell I’m doing, how I’m supposed to act. This should be fun. Another life adventure. Hell yeah, baby.

Benjamin is racing in a Trik-a-Thon tomorrow.

The day care just told me about it today, otherwise I would have taken the afternoon off to cheer him on. Maybe I should anyway. Benjamin is a world-class tricycle rider by the way. We ditched the stroller months ago. Now it’s a bike ride to the coffee shop and park every night.

He pumps his little legs furiously the entire way there, about a half of a mile. Inside, he zooms around on the wooden floors, brushing and swirving past the legs of the singles checking each other out. “Scuuz me,” he says, “SCUUZ ME!!” He likes to repeat himself, louder always the second time around.

Yes, it’s quite a sight. My little birth control on a tricycle breaking everyone’s flirtatious mojo.

So tomorrow Benjamin will make his debut on a real race track. And here I have on my desk – a little pledge card. I have to donate a dollar amount for every lap he makes. The brochure says kids make 25 laps on average.

But knowing Benjamin, they’ll have to drag him off of the track kicking and screaming. He won’t go down without a fight – ever. Not if you’re standing between him and something he wants. And at this point in his life those things include: Thomas the Train, his bike and his best friend Sydney. Oh, and me, I suppose.

He’s been kissing the hell out of me lately. He jumps on top of me – grabs my face and then starts kissing me, my cheeks, my nose. And he says, “I love you, Mommy. I LOVE YOU!!” Wonder where he learned that one from.

So who wants to guess Benjamin’s lap count?

And how much should I pledge a lap? What’s standard? It’s a lonely pledge card by the way. That’s slightly embarassing isn’t it? I’m sure the other parents have like 10 million friends on theirs. Oh well.

This parenthood thing – the school thing – is going to be hilarious, because I don’t know what in the hell I’m doing, how I’m supposed to act. Should be fun. Another life adventure. Hell yeah, baby.

Benjamin is racing in Trik-a-Thon tomorrow.

The day care just told me about it today, otherwise I would have taken the afternoon off to cheer him on. Maybe I should anyway. Benjamin is a world-class tricycle rider by the way. We ditched the stroller months ago. Now it’s a bike trip to the coffee shop and park every night.

He pumps his little legs furiously the entire way there, about a half of a mile. Inside, he zooms around on the wooden floors, brushing and swirving past the legs of the singles checking each other out. “Scuuz me,” he says, “SCUUZ ME!!”  He likes to repeat himself, louder always the second time around.

Yes, it’s quite a sight. My little birth control on a tricycle breaking everyone’s flirtatious mojo.

So tomorrow Benjamin will make his debut on a real race track. And here I have on my desk – a little pledge card. I have to donate a dollar amount for every lap he makes. The brochure says kids make 25 laps on average.

But knowing Benjamin, they’ll have to drag him off of the track kicking and screaming. He won’t go down without a fight – ever. Not if you’re standing between him and something he wants. And at this point his life those things include: Thomas the Train, his bike and his best friend Sydney. Oh, and me, I suppose.

He’s been kissing the hell out of me lately. He jumps on top of me – grabs my face and then starts kissing me, my cheeks, my nose. And he says, “I love you, Mommy. I LOVE YOU!!” Wonder where he learned that one from.

So who wants to guess Benjamin’s lap count? And how much should I pledge a lap? What’s standard? It’s a lonely pledge card by the way. That’s slightly embarassing isn’t it? I’m sure the other parents have like 10 million friends on theirs. Oh well.

This parenthood thing – the school thing – is going to be hilarious, because I don’t know what in the hell I’m doing, how I’m supposed to act. Should be fun. Another life adventure. Hell yeah, baby.

Benjamin is racing in a Trik-a-Thon tomorrow.

The day care just told me about it today, otherwise I would have taken the afternoon off to cheer him on. Maybe I should anyway. Benjamin is a world-class tricycle rider by the way. We ditched the stroller months ago. Now it’s a bike ride to the coffee shop and park every night.

He pumps his little legs furiously the entire way there, about a half of a mile. Inside, he zooms around on the wooden floors, brushing and swirving past the legs of the singles checking each other out. “Scuuz me,” he says, “SCUUZ ME!!” He likes to repeat himself, louder always the second time around.

Yes, it’s quite a sight. My little birth control on a tricycle breaking everyone’s flirtatious mojo.

So tomorrow Benjamin will make his debut on a real race track. And here I have on my desk – a little pledge card. I have to donate a dollar amount for every lap he makes. The brochure says kids make 25 laps on average.

But knowing Benjamin, they’ll have to drag him off of the track kicking and screaming. He won’t go down without a fight – ever. Not if you’re standing between him and something he wants. And at this point in his life those things include: Thomas the Train, his bike and his best friend Sydney. Oh, and me, I suppose.

He’s been kissing the hell out of me lately. He jumps on top of me – grabs my face and then starts kissing me, my cheeks, my nose. And he says, “I love you, Mommy. I LOVE YOU!!” Wonder where he learned that one from.

So who wants to guess Benjamin’s lap count?

And how much should I pledge a lap? What’s standard? It’s a lonely pledge card by the way. That’s slightly embarassing isn’t it? I’m sure the other parents have like 10 million friends on theirs. Oh well.

This parenthood thing – the school thing – is going to be hilarious, because I don’t know what in the hell I’m doing, how I’m supposed to act. Should be fun. Another life adventure. Hell yeah, baby.

Benjamin is racing in Trik-a-Thon tomorrow.

The day care just told me about it today, otherwise I would have taken the afternoon off to cheer him on. Maybe I should anyway. Benjamin is a world-class tricycle rider by the way. We ditched the stroller months ago. Now it’s a bike trip to the coffee shop and park every night.

He pumps his little legs furiously the entire way there, about a half of a mile. Inside, he zooms around on the wooden floors, brushing and swirving past the legs of the singles checking each other out. “Scuuz me,” he says, “SCUUZ ME!!”  He likes to repeat himself, louder always the second time around.

Yes, it’s quite a sight. My little birth control on a tricycle breaking everyone’s flirtatious mojo.

So tomorrow Benjamin will make his debut on a real race track. And here I have on my desk – a little pledge card. I have to donate a dollar amount for every lap he makes. The brochure says kids make 25 laps on average.

But knowing Benjamin, they’ll have to drag him off of the track kicking and screaming. He won’t go down without a fight – ever. Not if you’re standing between him and something he wants. And at this point his life those things include: Thomas the Train, his bike and his best friend Sydney. Oh, and me, I suppose.

He’s been kissing the hell out of me lately. He jumps on top of me – grabs my face and then starts kissing me, my cheeks, my nose. And he says, “I love you, Mommy. I LOVE YOU!!” Wonder where he learned that one from.

So who wants to guess Benjamin’s lap count? And how much should I pledge a lap? What’s standard? It’s a lonely pledge card by the way. That’s slightly embarassing isn’t it? I’m sure the other parents have like 10 million friends on theirs. Oh well.

This parenthood thing – the school thing – is going to be hilarious, because I don’t know what in the hell I’m doing, how I’m supposed to act. This should be fun. Another life adventure. Hell yeah, baby.

Benjamin is racing in a Trik-a-Thon tomorrow.

The day care just told me about it today, otherwise I would have taken the afternoon off to cheer him on. Maybe I should anyway. Benjamin is a world-class tricycle rider by the way. We ditched the stroller months ago. Now it’s a bike ride to the coffee shop and park every night.

He pumps his little legs furiously the entire way there, about a half of a mile. Inside, he zooms around on the wooden floors, brushing and swirving past the legs of the singles checking each other out. “Scuuz me,” he says, “SCUUZ ME!!” He likes to repeat himself, louder always the second time around.

Yes, it’s quite a sight. My little birth control on a tricycle breaking everyone’s flirtatious mojo.

So tomorrow Benjamin will make his debut on a real race track. And here I have on my desk – a little pledge card. I have to donate a dollar amount for every lap he makes. The brochure says kids make 25 laps on average.

But knowing Benjamin, they’ll have to drag him off of the track kicking and screaming. He won’t go down without a fight – ever. Not if you’re standing between him and something he wants. And at this point in his life those things include: Thomas the Train, his bike and his best friend Sydney. Oh, and me, I suppose.

He’s been kissing the hell out of me lately. He jumps on top of me – grabs my face and then starts kissing me, my cheeks, my nose. And he says, “I love you, Mommy. I LOVE YOU!!” Wonder where he learned that one from.

So who wants to guess Benjamin’s lap count?

And how much should I pledge a lap? What’s standard? It’s a lonely pledge card by the way. That’s slightly embarassing isn’t it? I’m sure the other parents have like 10 million friends on theirs. Oh well.

This parenthood thing – the school thing – is going to be hilarious, because I don’t know what in the hell I’m doing, how I’m supposed to act. Should be fun. Another life adventure. Hell yeah, baby.

Benjamin is racing in Trik-a-Thon tomorrow.

The day care just told me about it today, otherwise I would have taken the afternoon off to cheer him on. Maybe I should anyway. Benjamin is a world-class tricycle rider by the way. We ditched the stroller months ago. Now it’s a bike trip to the coffee shop and park every night.

He pumps his little legs furiously the entire way there, about a half of a mile. Inside, he zooms around on the wooden floors, brushing and swirving past the legs of the singles checking each other out. “Scuuz me,” he says, “SCUUZ ME!!”  He likes to repeat himself, louder always the second time around.

Yes, it’s quite a sight. My little birth control on a tricycle breaking everyone’s flirtatious mojo.

So tomorrow Benjamin will make his debut on a real race track. And here I have on my desk – a little pledge card. I have to donate a dollar amount for every lap he makes. The brochure says kids make 25 laps on average.

But knowing Benjamin, they’ll have to drag him off of the track kicking and screaming. He won’t go down without a fight – ever. Not if you’re standing between him and something he wants. And at this point his life those things include: Thomas the Train, his bike and his best friend Sydney. Oh, and me, I suppose.

He’s been kissing the hell out of me lately. He jumps on top of me – grabs my face and then starts kissing me, my cheeks, my nose. And he says, “I love you, Mommy. I LOVE YOU!!” Wonder where he learned that one from.

So who wants to guess Benjamin’s lap count? And how much should I pledge a lap? What’s standard? It’s a lonely pledge card by the way. That’s slightly embarassing isn’t it? I’m sure the other parents have like 10 million friends on theirs. Oh well.

This parenthood thing – the school thing – is going to be hilarious, because I don’t know what in the hell I’m doing, how I’m supposed to act. Should be fun. Another life adventure. Hell yeah, baby.

Benjamin is racing in a Trik-a-Thon tomorrow.

The day care just told me about it today, otherwise I would have taken the afternoon off to cheer him on. Maybe I should anyway. Benjamin is a world-class tricycle rider by the way. We ditched the stroller months ago. Now it’s a bike ride to the coffee shop and park every night.

He pumps his little legs furiously the entire way there, about a half of a mile. Inside, he zooms around on the wooden floors, brushing and swirving past the legs of the singles checking each other out. “Scuuz me,” he says, “SCUUZ ME!!” He likes to repeat himself, louder always the second time around.

Yes, it’s quite a sight. My little birth control on a tricycle breaking everyone’s flirtatious mojo.

So tomorrow Benjamin will make his debut on a real race track. And here I have on my desk – a little pledge card. I have to donate a dollar amount for every lap he makes. The brochure says kids make 25 laps on average.

But knowing Benjamin, they’ll have to drag him off of the track kicking and screaming. He won’t go down without a fight – ever. Not if you’re standing between him and something he wants. And at this point in his life those things include: Thomas the Train, his bike and his best friend Sydney. Oh, and me, I suppose.

He’s been kissing the hell out of me lately. He jumps on top of me – grabs my face and then starts kissing me, my cheeks, my nose. And he says, “I love you, Mommy. I LOVE YOU!!” Wonder where he learned that one from.

So who wants to guess Benjamin’s lap count?

And how much should I pledge a lap? What’s standard? It’s a lonely pledge card by the way. That’s slightly embarassing isn’t it? I’m sure the other parents have like 10 million friends on theirs. Oh well.

This parenthood thing – the school thing – is going to be hilarious, because I don’t know what in the hell I’m doing, how I’m supposed to act. Should be fun. Another life adventure. Hell yeah, baby.

I have been a dating single mom for over two years now.

And the first thing I can tell you is this – it’s not easy. First, you have to get past your divorce, the heartbreak, the anger and the tears. And then, once you are finally ready to get back out there, you have to factor in the kids and their feelings.

Here are a few of my single mom dating advice articles that are a good base. Start here and then come back to my blog every day, because as you’ll soon see – I’m learning as I go!

If you’re not over your ex, start with this:

How to meet men as a single mom and date them.

The good stuff: falling in love as a single mom.

The not-so-good stuff: breaking up as a single mom.

And if you’re scared to get back out there… watch this video: