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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:

On Weddings

mssinglemama — Fri, 05 Jun 2009 14:19:53 +0000

I looked up at my little sister. I had my wedding dress bunched up around my thighs and I was squatting on the toilet in my aunt’s house.

“Don’t ever do this,” I said.

Getting married, the actual wedding part, was painful for me.

Maybe it was because I was marrying the wrong man or maybe it’s because I planned my wedding in three days (a must to meet my French Canadian boyfriend’s expiration date for his time in the US.)

I was only 25-years-old. One year later I would be pregnant at just 26-years-old and wishing I had never done what I was about to do.

“Ever,” I said sternly.

She looked at me with her mouth gaping and nodded.

Inseparable when we were younger and only one year apart, I often call my little sister my soul mate. Destined to be together, cast here in tandem to be friends for life, we often take each other’s words as gospel.

Fortunately she didn’t listen to me and two years later I was standing beside her, looking on as her bridesmaid, listening to her nervous breaths and seeing the tears in her husband’s eyes as they exchanged their vows on the steps of a hallowed building on the campus of the University of Virginia where the two had met.

Anna and Ryan, have been in love since they met. Anna used to sneak away from a night with her friends to surprise Ryan in his dorm room, just a few doors down from Edgar Allen Poe’s room.

When the walls of my marriage started crumbling I called Anna more than anyone.

“It just shouldn’t be that hard Alaina, you should just love each other,” she would tell me over and over again.

Like this… it should be like this -

—–

I have four weddings to go to this summer. Four.

Weddings are usually a blur of bad music, bad food and lots of confused driving to and from – all to watch a couple make the most solemn of vows which makes me feel a bit uncomfortable, like a voyeur or something.

I hate weddings. I do. I do. So that’s why I’m surprising myself because I’m actually excited about each and every one of these weddings. Just thinking about them all gives me butterflies in my stomach. Happy little love butterflies.

I’m becoming a ball of cheese.

Just roll me up and send me on my way. But before that, let me explain…

The first is this weekend. The Bear is taking me to his cousin’s wedding. I don’t know his cousin or anyone in the Bear’s family but I can’t wait . We’re going to have a blast because we’ll be together and I get to meet his family – the people who had a hand in molding him into the awesome, pure man he is today.

The second wedding is next weekend in Lexington, Kentucky where Morgan (aka Modern Single Momma) will become Modern Married Momma. Look out for her live Skype Bachelorette Party on Thursday night featuring Miss Ive. I may or may not be there depending on whether or not I can find a sitter for Benjamin. But I’ll definitely be there for the ceremony.

The third is my littlest brother’s this August and finally in September my best friend, a former single mom herself, is going to re-marry her ex-husband. I’ll save those stories for later…

Right now – tell me yours… leave a story about your wedding, a good memory, a bad memory – did you know it was right? or wrong?

Everyone who leaves a comment will be entered to win one of five copies of the Successful Single Mom by Honoree Corpron. She’s been happily married for one year now but Honoree is still tireless in her desire to empower single moms.

Can’t wait to be a guest on her new radio talk show just for single moms. Check that out here.

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:

My imaginary husband

mssinglemama — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 03:17:10 +0000

It’s been so long since I’ve had a husband, or even a steady boyfriend for that matter, that I now can only imagine what it would be like. There’s nothing tangible left, not even an old pair of boxer shorts. Just pictures like this one.

At first, when Benjamin was just four-months-old, the memories of having someone were fresh. It pained me to imagine being alone for one more day, let alone a lifetime. Now, nearly three years later, I’ve completely adapted to going it solo, 100% of the time.

With that said, I can’t say that my imaginary husband doesn’t pop into my head every once in a while. He teases me with visions of what it would be like to have some help in the form of a sexy man who I get all to myself forever and ever.

Sometimes I even write him letters.

This week his imaginary chores included:

Super gluing the shield of Benjamin’s toy knight back on.
Removing me from the bar after my third shot of tequila on my 30th birthday to save me from my drunk self.
Taking the garbage out (at least four times).
Figuring out how to get the water out of the car seat after I left the door open all night during a rainstorm.
Setting up the space heaters and then telling me a gas leak is no big deal and that everything would be okay.
Running to the store to pick up juice for Benjamin when he wanted it the other night.
Returning the videos to the library before we got $20.00 in late fees.
Teaching Benjamin how to pee standing up.
Watching Benjamin while I took a much deserved nap.
And giving me a back rub (at least four times).

I managed most of these by myself, except for the back rub, the late night grocery run, the drunken bar removal, the nap and the library returns. It’s always in the oddest moments that the thoughts of my imaginary husband pop up. But that’s all they are – just thoughts, innocent and passive without even wistful regret. It’s been so long though. I mean, I may as well be imagining what it would be like to meet an alien or live in Africa.

And, yes, that scares me a little.

Should being in a relationship really feel like something so completely and totally foreign? Am I morphing into a hybrid single chick who is going to remain completely self-sufficient for the rest of her little life? That doesn’t sound so bad actually.That’s why I take my little imaginary husband daydreams as a very good sign.

Without them it would be easy to convince myself that men are superfluous and unnecessary distractions. And I think finding myself on that extreme would mean I could be missing out on something, even though I don’t know what that something is. Clearly there are women – a lot of them – who benefit from having a man around. I know, I’ve seen them – those good husbands and those happy wives.

Keep in mind I’ve never actually had a husband or a man who would have done all of those things for me without complaint. Dumb luck? Maybe. Bad judgment? Probably. A penchant for choosing men who need help instead of one who can carry his own weight? Definitely.

So keep that in mind. When you read about this woman who loves being single so very much, it may be because I’ve never really had a man who made my life better. Some of you have and that must be horrible not to have it anymore, whatever the reason.

I never missed mine. I had felt trapped, wanting to break free during most of our marriage. I was on the phone with my sister, my newborn sound asleep in his stroller when I finally decided I needed to end it.

“If this is what marriage is like,” I told her, “or what our marriage is like than I don’t want it – at all. Actually I’d rather be single. It would be easier than this!”

I was absolutely right. Someday our son is going to understand this. In fact, I think he’ll be one of those kids who just shakes his head and wonders how in the hell is parents even lasted long enough to create him. As hard as it was to become a single mom, as impossible as it seemed, it was – and still is – well worth every minute. And this is why I am so glad my imaginary husband is here. He’s much more fun than fear or bottled up resentment and he’s an amazing kisser.

Hey, at least I am making imaginary room for a man.

Major progress, people, major.

What chores do you have for your imaginary husband? How would he be different from your ex-husband? Dish it.

My Camera (and My Aprons).

mssinglemama — Sat, 28 Mar 2009 02:26:36 +0000

You’re all asking about the camera.

I thought you might but I didn’t want to shock you with the sticker price of my newest toy in my last post.

To me, $679.00 is a hell of a lot of money but I splurged on this puppy anyway. Why? Because life is too damn short not to have excellent photographs of your child (if you can afford to have them. Fortunately I can, so I bought it). Three years ago if you would have told me I would be financially ahead again I would have told you, “It takes me three years?”

And then I would have promptly drowned myself in the nearest pond.

Three years seems like a long time when you’re staring down a barrel of your ex-husband’s incredible credit card debt*, have a baby to feed and are living in your mother’s house. Especially when – up until that point – you were completely financially independent and ahead (all. of. the. time.).

So when I paid off his debt last month I decided to invest in yet another life weapon.

Yes a life weapon.

Something that makes life easier or better.

A good camera is one of them.

Here is a picture I took of my apron curtain with my old camera – the Sony Cyber Shot.

I’ve been using the Cyber Shot for nearly one year now and most of the photos and videos you’ve seen on my blog were taken with it. I love that camera and highly recommend it to all of you. It’s a hefty $229.00 but worth every single penny.

Since buying the awesome Cyber Shot I’ve developed a bit of a passion and craving for better pictures. So I bit the bullet and invested in a Canon Rebel XSi which is about twice as much. I feel like I bought a porsche and have no clue how to drive it… but I’m an Aries – what can I say? And I’m learning, shot by shot.

Look at the difference already…

Those are the stories of my two cameras.

I’ll be keeping the Cyber Shot for videos like this one but if I win that Ford Fiesta I may have to upgrade my video camera as well. [They'll be telling me if I'm a Ford Fiesta agent later this week!!!]

P.S.

I found the apron curtain at an antique fair in Texas years ago.

The entire bundle was only $10.00. When I moved into this apartment I found them packed up in a box, where I’d delicately stored them while packing to leave my husband. Soon the aprons would be in storage along with everything else I owned. I wouldn’t see them again until one year later when I moved out of my mother’s and into Benjamin and I’s first real home.

They’ve been hanging up in that window ever since.

Each of those aprons carries a piece of the souls of the women who made them. And I think they’d all be very proud of me… of all of us.

*WARNING TO ALL FUTURE SINGLE MOTHERS:

To avoid having to assume a current husband or soon to be ex-husband’s credit card debt be sure every card he’s using is in his name only. DOUBLE CHECK. The bank may have fooled you when they signed him up for card. Run a credit check on yourself before you even bring up the idea of divorce. Get those things moved around before he suspects that you’re really leaving. Then there’s no way he can run up the card (when it’s in your name), stop paying the bills (when it’s in your name) and risk your credit score. I had no choice but to assume the debt to save my credit score. The court ruled that he would have to pay me back but he eventually went bankrupt and was excused from it all.

Bye, Bye Daddy?

mssinglemama — Sun, 18 Jan 2009 06:28:33 +0000

“I talked to someone who works with your ex’s girlfriend,” my friend said.

“Really? And?”

“She is acting all excited saying he bought a new car and they are all moving to Canada – together.”

My face lit up and then crumbled all at once. Certainly, it must have. I can’t hide anything. It’s annoying. Hearing that felt something like this: conflicted excitement that he’ll finally be completely gone instead of partially gone and then total horror at the idea of him taking them with him – his girlfriend and her six-year-old son.

“When?” I asked.

“She said it would be in a few weeks or something.”

I called Benjamin’s father later this afternoon. Small talk first – brief small talk – and then:

“So? Have you been thinking about Canada? Have you made up your mind?”

“I can’t talk right now. We’re really busy.”

“Well, call me back when you get off. I want to talk about this.”

Still no call.

Just waiting now in the quiet of our apartment. I’m at the precipice, looking over and wondering what’s on the other side.

I also can’t believe another single mom is actually choosing my worst nightmare and taking her son along for the ride. For a man who won’t even let her son call him Daddy.

How can some of us be so tragically blind?

I shudder to think of what that boy’s future holds. Why can’t I save him? Why do women make decisions like this? For men? Really? And the worst thought of all – I brought him here, I led him to her through some kind of twisted fate. And now instead of my son – who I’ve saved – it will be another boy.

—–

Today a building that spans over most of an entire block caught fire in my little neighborhood. We missed the entire thing because we’d just left for an afternoon at grandma’s. Mia was home and she called me right away. The sky was black and ashes were falling on her house.

Tonight we invited my cool neighbors to walk there with us to check it out.

Here’s the alley we walk through every day in the spring, summer and fall… and there’s little Benjamin loving the snow.

It usually leads us to some of our favorite shops and boutiques (and my favorite hair salon) but tonight here’s what we saw.

That ice on the trees is frozen water from the fire hoses. Unbelievable. It was all there, just this morning.

P.S.

I met his father at a restaurant behind the right fire truck nearly five years ago. Is it a total coincidence the very spot is covered in ash and soot right now? Definitely. But still… there’s some serious symbolism for you. Weird.

The rest of this story can be found in these posts:

Eyelashes

mssinglemama — Sat, 27 Dec 2008 16:58:05 +0000

All of Benjamin’s life people have commented on his eyelashes.

“They’re from his father,” I say. They are amazing. Like little butterfly wings.

He also has his father’s body – his shoulders, his legs, his torso and even his little butt. But he has my smile, my eyes and my eyebrows. Like any mother, I day dream about what kind of a man Benjamin will become. But unlike most mothers, I hope against all hopes that, aside from the physical resemblance, that my son is nothing like his father.

——-

His father is the mysterious man who shows up once a week to pick him up for an overnight. We barely know each other any more. I can’t even remember what it felt like to be in love with him – I must have been delusional, I think. There’s nothing there now. Nothing at all. Just a shadow of the girl I used to be… a naive girl who would fall for a man and marry him on a whim because he needed a Green card.

Here’s the thing, when you’re a little girl and you dream of that damn prince and the castle you forget to dream about how he’ll be as a father. At least I did.

This dream surfaces, for some of us, in the form of a blinding nightmare because it’s after we’ve already had his child. And it dawns on us that we’ve bred with a rotten apple, a dud, a bad father.

But how do you tell what kind of a father a man will be until he is actually tested? How do you really know? I’m not sure if I have the answer. But I think it starts by measuring how they love you, how they treat the future mother of their children.

——-

On Christmas morning – after he opened his stocking and a massive Thomas track from Grandma…

Benjamin’s eyelash donor showed up to take him for the night.

My mother, had been mumbling her protest to the idea all morning, “He’s too sick! Tell him he’s too sick. He can’t take him on Christmas.”

“I know, Mom. I know. But he is his father. He gets to see him on Christmas.”

She shook her head, unable to comprehend having to share her child with a virtual stranger. Sharing your child, if you think about it, is not a natural experience for any mother.

Thirty minutes later Benjamin was cuddled in his father’s arms, ready to go and eagerly shouting his name.

But his father had ignored him twice now – too busy talking our ears off with another one of his stories. I had trained myself long ago to listen to these narratives without interrupting. You just have to listen and nod your head, it’s really fucked up.

And if you want something, you have to ask very, very nicely.

So I did. Because I wanted my kid with me on Christmas night.

“You know what?” I say as sweetly as possible, “Why don’t I come get him at 4:30. I don’t think he should stay at your place because we’ve been so sick.”

“Yeah. Okay,” he says, “We wanted to spend some time alone tomorrow anyway.”

We being he and his girlfriend.

It’s funny. Because after all of this time I still expect something from him, some kind of protest, some kind of sentence like, “But I haven’t seen him in a week” or “I really want to take him to this cool park I found.”

Five hours later I bust out of my sick funk to go pick up Benjamin at his father’s place – technically his girlfriend’s place. She opens the door for me. Inside it’s dark and small. I can’t imagine living here with him. Our old town house had been four times this size and, even there, I couldn’t hide from him. Here, she had no where – not a solitary inch of the place to herself.

She’s still as frail and as beat down as she was the first time we met. I can tell she’s scared of him and unlike me, unable to stand up for herself.

Benjamin hadn’t eaten or napped while he was there and he passed out in my car within seconds it seemed. Utterly exhausted. We both were. It’s draining. It really is… especially when you’re so damn sick.

We still are by the way. I don’t even know how many days it’s been now. But now, Benjamin has passed his flu on to me. So it’s a cold and flu for Mommy while he just has the remnants of the flu. I’m just hoping at this point I’ll be able to work on Monday. I would call his father but I know there’s nothing he would do… believe me, I’ve called before.

Maybe I should move to Alaska or something.

Ex-mas Etiquette

mssinglemama — Thu, 18 Dec 2008 02:12:07 +0000

A holiday question about our ex-men.

Do you buy them presents from the kids?

I will not be buying my ex-husband, Benjamin’s father, a Christmas present from myself. I think that’s a given. But what about a gift from Benjamin to his dad? Just shy of three, Benjamin still doesn’t really get the concept of gifts so what’s a single mama to do?

Here are my options:

Have Benjamin make cards for everyone, including a special card for his father.
Pick out an actual present, wrap it and tuck it in Benjamin’s bag on Christmas.
Ignore it all together or as I like to say, “play stupid.”

And what about my ex-husband’s girlfriend and her son? I’ve only met them once but they’ve been living together for over a year now. I can’t trust that my ex will buy a present from Benjamin to his (what do you call them) almost-step mother and step-brother. Should I cover those gifts too?

What have you all done in the past? What’s the typical ex-mas etiquette?

—–

In the ex-mas spirit…

If you haven’t yet and you’d like a few laughs check out my post on Mr. [Blank]. I asked you all to create names for your ex-husbands or boyfriends. The responses (over 40 of them) vary. Some will make you laugh out loud and others are just flat out reminders of why we’re so lucky to be single.

Leave your Mr. Ex Man name here. Guaranteed to cleanse the soul if you leave a comment. Sign in anonymously if you like.

—-

And on a completely random note… I found these the other day – THE perfect gift for teachers or child care givers.

Yogi Cold Defense Tea. You can find them at Whole Foods or other natural grocery stores. I had six teachers and child care givers to shop for, and with my limited budget gift cards were out of the question. Just had to pass this idea on. I found them at $3.29 a box. Here are more teacher gift ideas from iVillage.

If you have any other great gift ideas please share.

Don’t Let the Ex-Bugs Bite

mssinglemama — Sun, 14 Dec 2008 22:09:25 +0000

I just ditched some major baggage, but you’ll have to pop over here to this ad-free page to read it.

I’ve been sleeping quite soundly ever since.

Mr. [Blank] – Your turn…

mssinglemama — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 03:20:14 +0000

Maybe I’m just in a giddy mood.

Or maybe I have a very literal sense of humor.

But this comment left by Mom Cat under my Ultimate Single Mom Contest post still has me giggling. I asked you all why you love being a single mom, here is her reason:

“My house is mine again… It feels good to live in a home that smells like orange essential oil instead of like Mr. Can’t-bother-to-wipe-his-own-butt.”

Oh, the memories of the ex-husband stenches and messes. HILARIOUS, I tell you. That’s way better than Mr. Right Now, Mr. Good Enough and even Mr. Man. Let’s remind ourselves why we are single moms…

Who was your ex-husband?

Complete this sentence with a comment: My ex-husband was Mr. [blank].

Be nice and funny if you can. If not, vent all you want. I’m not going to do it because I’d have to delete this blog.