Every guy I’ve dated since becoming a single mom has told me, “you need to relax” or “you never relax” My reaction has been the same each time. I stand there and kind of stare at them while scratching my head and then try my like hell not to ask them what the think chill out means. But after the third or fourth guy gave me the “chill out” line I realized that perhaps they had a point.

When I was in high school and college my form of chilling out included downing six Hornsbys and then maybe doing a keg stand or two. I don’t drink nearly as often anymore, maybe once every two weeks. And parties, what parties? Are you kidding me? Unfortunately I was not trained by my mother, who is constantly stressed out herself, in the fine art of chilling out, taking a load off, resting one’s feet up in the air and just reading or staring at the wall. Taking a break or chilling out was not in my household vocabulary as a child. That sucked. But not to worry, I am very aware of this fact and so is my therapist.

Then I had Benjamin. He wouldn’t stop crying during the first 11 weeks. If he was awake he was crying and if he was asleep it was only for a few hours at a time. Somewhere along the way his father lost his job and refused to find another one. It topped off our Miserable Marriage Pie quite nicely and I left him. Now, three years later, I am just beginning to taste the freedom of being able to take a shower without feeling that nervous “what if he swallows a poison chemical and dies while I’m in here” sensation. Yes, I can shower again world and it’s amazing. No, I lied, it is exquisite.

Maybe I was a high strung mother when he was a newborn and toddler but I was alone, I still am (for the most part) and it will take me a while to chill the fuck out. It will. The one thing about being a working single mom that no one – absolutely no one – can understand is the constant 100%, no break whatsoever part of the job description. Going out one night a week for two hours does not constitute a break, especially when you have to pay for it. Having an ex-husband take your child away for one night a week, on a work night, does not constitute a break. Even getting five minutes to yourself in the shower does not constitute a break because if shit really hit the fan, if you just needed a week off you would have to do this: call all of your friends and family and arrange for a multi-tiered super complicated babysitting schedule. Even taking a vacation is stressful.

I can only imagine, they say.

Yes. You can only imagine because there is nothing like this and I am not going to apologize for being the way that I am because I did what I had to do to survive and get us through to the other side, this side – which is actually the happy side. With that said, I am probably more stressed out than most of the general population. I hate it but I like being who I am. So I’m not quite sure how to make it go away or how to balance it all so everything fits in a nice, tiny, little happy package.

I am trying my best to learn how to chill out. I really am. I am actually concentrating and focusing on it. Not working a day job is helping tremendously because when I feel an intense bout of stress coming on I can walk away from the computer and go for a walk or a run. (Yes, a run – I have actually been running here and there). It helps to be doing what I absolutely love. I can’t even begin to describe what it feels like to work for yourself, it is one of the most liberating feelings.

I am taking baby steps to reaching a nice, balanced and healthy mental state. I am also vowing to myself that I will try to accept the help of others more often. But it’s so damn hard to ask. Why is that by the way? And why can’t I just be one of those happy, normal, go lucky girls who knows exactly how to chill out? I hate those girls. Well, I don’t hate them – not really – but I wish they’d teach me a few things.

Oh, and…

Did you know I haven’t had a pedicure or a manicure in over four years? After this eBook comes out (now over 120 pages btw) I am so getting both and a massage.

UPDATE:

Just watched this episode of Momversation on Me Time and it made me feel worlds better, especially when Heather B. Armstrong (Dooce) gives a shout out to single moms.

Related posts:

1. Toddler-free (for one week?)
2. There’s a man in my bed.

Larry is in his seventies but his eyes are young.

He had a major hand in creating the Hocking Valley Scenic Railway, a thriving tourist destination for Athens County and his energy seems to be endless. He’ll never acknowledge his age with words or by his actions and I find this amazing and inspiring.

We’ve just wrapped up a meeting and now we’re saying our good byes in the doorway to the Athens County Visitors Bureau. The Bureau is my refuge and my savior. My home town, I feel, is cradling me – rocking me back to health and in turn I am enlightening thousands of tourists to pay us a visit.

Larry is lingering.

“So have you found a nice guy yet?” he asks.

Every time I meet a WWII vet like Larry I immediately conjure up images of men like Gregory Peck and Spencer Tracy on battle lines or at fancy dinner tables puffing on cigarettes, he is no exception.

“No, not yet. There aren’t any around or something, or maybe I just don’t know where to look or maybe I’m not ready,” my voice cracks a bit.

The tears have been coming easily lately.

It’s been nine months of single motherhood and I have yet to see a glimmer of hope, even though I’ve been dating not one man has shown promise of being something.

I want to hear words of wisdom from Larry, so I stop, look down at my shuffling feet and then I listen.

“Don’t you worry, Beautiful. One of these days a man is going to find you and he’s going to sweep you off your feet. You won’t even know what hit ya.”

“Really? A man can do that? I’m not sure if that’s possible,” I’m looking up at him now wondering how I must appear, as a damsel in distress with the flowered skirt to match.

But even though I look the damsel, someone who could potentially be swept up into a romantic whirlwind, I am a single mother. I have a one-year-old at home who I can’t stop thinking about, not even if I try. Can a man ever really understand that or fit into my life?

The reality of it all smacks into me like a wave and I start shaking my head before he can even answer.

“No, Larry, it’s not possible… not unless he can change diapers and be woken up in the middle of the night – every night.”

“Oh it is, sweet heart – trust me on this one, it definitely is. Just you wait.”

Larry was right. I just had to be patient and stop looking.

—–

The Bear leaves me at the bar for a second to use the bathroom.

I trace my fingers across the rim of the glass holding my beer. The men across the bar are there, starring. I can see them but they are just a blur, a wash of people.

Typically I would meet their eyes if even for a fleeting moment just to see if I could catch that spark, that thing I had been dreaming of for so many years, that feeling I had yet to experience. But now, I keep my eyes down and a slight smile creeps across my face and then it grows wider.

I can’t contain it anymore, not even in a bar filled with men.

I’m being swept.

He’s completely endearing, fascinatingly intelligent, funny as hell and totally adorable. He also has drive, passion and a humor for life. He’s all of these things but there’s something else… he cares.

Suddenly an entirely new feeling slips over me.

It’s the feeling of having a warm blanket wrapped around your shoulders, the feeling of being absolutely satisfied, filled up, rested, cared for, loved… whatever it is, I like it and I sink into my bar stool and just exhale. And then he’s there, his arm wraps around my shoulder and he says, “you okay?”

“Definitely,” I smile.

“Oh, I know that look,” he says, “that’s a look I like.”

After a few more Raspberry Wheats, the Bear and I find ourselves in the center of the small but empty dance floor. He wraps his arms around my waist and we start swaying to the blue grass music floating in the air. Then he leans in and kisses my neck, then my cheek and then my lips.

“Stop,” I say, “what about all of the others, I feel bad – they don’t have this – and I don’t want to be that couple.”

“Screw them,” he says, “it’s our turn now. It’s our turn to be happy.”

Potential, people, this Bear fellow has potential. <pinch pinch>

—-

Back up reading:

• Want a man? Stop looking for one.
• How did the Bear get his name? You’d have to ask the Lion and the Tiger.
• How we met.
• Our first date.
• A video of the Bear.

Related posts:

1. Hollywood’s single parent couple?
2. Unexpected reality
3. His eyes, the Governor & Dave.

Christine Coppa of Glamour.com’s Storked! recently finished her memoir on becoming a single mother and the title? Rattled! Very appropriate, don’t you think?

Order your advanced copy here.

Like me, Christine, was 26 when she found out she was pregnant. Three months later her boyfriend made it clear he didn’t want to be a part of their lives.

I hope you enjoy these interviews.

>Pop over to Storked! to read Christine’s interview of yours truly.

MSM: After JD’s father left you have said you were bitter, but have since let that go. What helped you forgive and move on?

Christine: There’s no point to live life bitter. Life, mine in particular, is beautiful. I have a healthy, happy, thriving child, an awesome career and loving family and friends. I’ve been through a lot in my twenty-seven years (things I examine in my book, Rattled!) and those experiences have aged me far beyond 27. I know what’s important. Spending time being pissed off–not important. Feeding ducks with your toddler–important.

MSM: Your new book, Rattled! is set for release in April. Why do you think every single mother should own a copy? Don’t be modest, I want you to brag because I’m just in awe that you managed to write it in the first place and I personally can’t wait to get my hands on it.

Christine: I don’t know how I wrote it either. I can’t believe it’s done and that JD is 14-months old wearing size 24-months clothes. It’s pretty rad to have done this. For one thing, Rattled! doesn’t glorify being a single mother. My book is a lot darker and more raw than my Storked! readers are used to. I spare no one–especially myself. Going through my pregnancy alone, wearing a belly under my sweater and not a ring on my finger was a huge, life-changing experience. I cried more than I smiled in those nine months–it wasn’t until JD was born that I realized for the rest of my life, I am the luckiest woman on the planet, because I have my JD. He saved me. Completely. Rattled! is many things. I hope it’s a cautionary tale for 20-something women. You have sex sans protection, the threat of pregnancy is real. And whether you keep the baby, your life is changed forever. My advice. Be safer than I was. It’s also pretty laugh and cry out loud.

I have to say, I was reading the final manuscript the other day and I tried really hard to remove myself as the author. I was cheering for Christine in those 25 chapters. But what I really want the readers to take away is that life does happen. In a way this book isn’t even about getting pregnant. It’s about catching a curve ball, learning from it…moving on…not being so afraid of the unknown, but rather excited by it. Life holds many secrets. It’s kind of awesome. What’s next for me? I can hardly wait to find out.

MSM: Have you started dating yet? If so, how has it been? If not, why not and when do you think you’ll be ready?

Christine:  I’ve been asked out several times, but no, I’m not dating. The past year of my life was a whirlwind–I had three babies: JD, Storked!, and Rattled! Some haters on my blog labeled me desperate and I have to laugh. Wouldn’t a desperate single mom actually date or beg her ex to come back? I know life will unfold, organically…I’m not a huge planner and dating, well, it’s not a priority right now, but now that my book is done and some of the pressure is off, I think I might take a certain someone up.

That said, I don’t really intend to write about my dating life on Storked! Or anywhere for that matter

MSM: You have called yourself the real life version of that girl in the Knocked Up movie. I hated that movie – just because of the cheesy, and completely unrealistic happy ending. Did you feel the same way? What message do you think that movie sends to young single women?

Christine: Have I? Oh God. Something new I can regret writing. Sometimes I look back on Storked! and I’m like, why did I write that? But, I guess that means I’m changing. I’m not Allison at all. I was in a relationship. I didn’t get pregnant on a one-night-stand. JD’s “father” was practically living out of a suitcase in my apartment. But, Hooray for Hollywood, right?

The movie made me laugh at a time when I thought I was the only single, pregnant woman around. It’s funny, Knocked Up, Waitress and Juno all seemed to come out when I was pregnant. Ya know, the movie was cheesy, but I’d like to believe some women are as lucky as Allison. And thanks to the movie I know it’s okay to play fetch with my kid.

MSM: I ask everyone this one – why do you love being a single mother?

Christine: I don’t love being a single mother. I love being a mother. I love my child. I love the life we have created together. I love snack time when JD shares whatever he’s eating with me (even chewed up cheese), by popping it into my mouth. I do not actually like being single. I’m comfortable being single (and have actually always been the loner-type). For now it is how things are. Single and mother…I wish the two weren’t married like they are. Two, completely different words.

MSM: You’ve written on your blog about suddenly being labeled as a single mother and said that you weren’t really comfortable with that title. Because when it comes down to it – you are a writer. Now that the book is finished, has your attitude changed any?

Christine: Storked! made me a single mother. Not JD. To JD I am just his “mum.” To myself I am JD’s “mum” and a writer…and for the time being single. I am not the poster child for single mothers. I am not a single mother that woke up one day and decided to try her hand at writing. I will not be defined by “single mother”…changed, sure.

MSM: And finally, what is the most valuable piece of advice you would pass on to single mothers?

Christine: Take a deep breath. Count to ten. Still there? You’re fine. Now go play on the swings with your kid and feel the sun on your face. You’re blessed.

Christine M. Coppa is the author of Storked! on Glamour.com. Rattled! is her first book and comes out in April ’09. She lives in North Jersey with her son JD and thinks nap time is better than Manolos.

>Pop over to Storked! to read Christine’s interview of yours truly.

No related posts.

The grocery store.

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. The total mommy fake out covers up the dread. But my kid can read me like a book and he usually never buys the act. Usually.

Tonight instead of throwing a preliminary grocery store tantrum I heard, “Okay Mommy, let go to tha stouh fo food.”

So on we went – Mommy with the highest hopes and Benjamin with a smile on his face that seemed to good to be true. 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 cart was massive, if you even want to call it a cart. And so loud – thundering through every aisle, torturing anyone within 20 feet. Every time we use it, I am sure people can hear us from at least four aisles away. But I never give a damn because I am trying to survive – to get out of the grocery store alive, with my sanity in tact. Tonight, in spite of my son’s smiling face, is no exception.

So while I cheer Benjamin on, making him believe he’s really steering the cart I am simultaneously 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 make it as far as the tomatoes when he jumps out.

The first time Benjamin broke free from me in a grocery store he was 6-months-old. As soon as his feet hit the ground he started running down the aisle while 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 that kind of pleasure would have been wrong.

But tonight my little baby had morphed into little boy and he was jumping out of the cart, not out of a thirst for freedom, but just to piss me off.

“Get back in now Benjamin,” I said, using my stern mommy voice, the one Super Nanny suggests. He refused. I quickly looked around for something to bribe him with (I know Super Nanny would kill me, but we needed food, damn it, and I couldn’t afford a tantrum at the start of the grocery trip. At the end – maybe, but not now).

I spotted some cookies.

“Get back in and I’ll give you a cookie.” That did it. He jumped in as fast as his little legs could get him there, grabbed a hold of the wheel and stared straight ahead.

I gave him his cookie and then after a few precious seconds of silence and munching he jumped out again. Before I could even tell him to get back in, he looked at me square in the eyes and demanded the entire box of cookies.

“Fine. Here they are.” I said, “now get back in.”

And just as I totally cheated, caving to my son’s demands while committing the worst of the worst Mommy sins – pure bribery with an unhealthy snack – I saw her. She’s there every time. Sometimes she’s old, sometimes she’s young – but for some reason she’s always a she. She’s the woman at the grocery store who gives me the you are a horrible, horrible mother glare. One year ago, still fresh from my divorce, her stare would have ruined my night. Defeated me. But tonight I just shook it off.

Benjamin chowed on his cookies through the baking aisle, the pasta aisle, the frozen food section and even the dairy section. And then the check out. We were almost out. I could see the pearly, white lights of the parking lot and just as we were about to cross through the automatic doors I heard the cookies crash to the floor.

“Uh-oh,” Benjamin said. “Uh-oh, uh-oh Mommy! Look! Look!”

“It’s okay Sweetie, we’ll just pick them up.”

And then another she – a nice she – looked at me with understanding sympathy as I crouched down to collect each cookie with my son scrambling to help. This she was older and I could tell her smiling eyes were remembering a similar moment. I felt jealous, wishing that just for a second I could be looking back on the now instead of living it. One second away from gathering the last cookie a store employee rushed up,  “I’ll go get you another box.”

“Oh no, really… that’s okay.”

But she was already gone, on a sprint to the cookie section.

Damn it. I was so close. Benjamin followed her with his eyes and as she ran through the produce section he saw the balloons. And then he was off – in a mad Braveheart-like dash. But instead of a “Freedom” he was screaming “Baallooooooonsssssss!”

He stopped at the foot of a giant, hideous Sponge Bob.

“I want that one,” he demanded.

“No, absolutely not.”

And then there it was.

The tantrum.

My groceries were still waiting. So was my car. So was freedom.

I’m was to hold him up but he kept wriggling to the ground. The cookie lady finally appeared and when she saw me clutching on to a now horizontal, screaming son in one hand and the cart in another she said, “Do you need help?”

“No, thanks. I’m almost there!” I grunted as Benjamin’s foot swiped near my head.

Somehow I got him outside and into the car. He was still screaming his brains out and I couldn’t find my keys. I sat him on the ground along with my purse. I used one hand to hold him down and the other to frantically sift through my purse.

After I’d finally found my keys and bucked Benjamin in another she appeared.

This time she was a young, single, childless she. The she I used to be.

She had just spotted her friend in the parking lot and they were now walking toward each other. Both of their faces so fresh, unwrinkled and bright. I again wish to be that she – completely unaware of all of this, but then I look in the car at the sweetest little he on Earth and all of the wishing goes away.

If you liked this post, you might also like:

• Love at First Sight
• This Shit Ain’t Easy (a bedtime story)
• Rockabye Baby, I Want to Kill the Barnes and Noble Lady
  

Related posts:

1. E-Harmony Really Does Suck: Worst web site of the year by Time Magazine
2. Single Mom S.O.S.: Play-Doh & Toddler-Goo
3. Momma Cum Laude’s daughter is here!!!

Benjamin and I went to a dude ranch this weekend.

We started out together.

Then Benjamin demanded to ride by himself. He won over the ranch hand with his powerful persuasion tactics and took the reins.

And here he is, fleeing from me… knowing I was about to haul his butt into the car to head back to the city.

We spent the entire weekend out at Grandma’s… I saw my new dude as well.

He’s convinced – beyond all reason, perhaps – that we are destined for each other. I try to talk him off of the ledge, telling him it’s impossible for us to know anything yet but he’s not budging. He’s there and I’m still here – kind of confused. Trying to identify my emotions like some kind of scientist.

Slow, I tell him – very slowly – “Fall at your own risk.”

Then I let him wrap his arms around my waist, so tightly, and bury my head into his broad chest, trying to believe in a happy ending that involves a man. He runs his hands across my forehead and tells me everything will be fine, just fine. But I’m still unsure…

I’m not sure how it should feel, how I should be feeling. That busy brain of mine won’t stop thinking – overly analytical. He says he can tell when I’m thinking because my eyebrows furrow and I start biting my lips. He watches me constantly when we’re together, unable to take his eyes off of me. It’s so odd to have someone care so much.

But I’m a different woman now. I am a mother. I already have a full-time relationship with someone, not even to mention a full-time job.

More later (not sure when) but stay tuned…

Related posts:

1. Do day care bugs ever end?
2. A sweet little reunion.
3. He’s back.

I couldn’t help it.  I had to make this t-shirt.

Buy yours here. Mine is on the way.

UPDATE - My shirt just arrived. And like it says on the order form they run SUPER SMALL. So order two sizes up. I got a Medium and it just barely fits. Still LOVE it though.

I found the t-shirts they’re printed on in the clearance bin so they’re only $11.90 + $4.99 shipping & handling. It’s available in pink, black and white but because they’re on clearance I’m not sure how long they’ll last. This one will just be an addition to my growing collection of single parent t-shirts (thanks to Morgan and Clare at iHeartSingleParents.com).

I wore mine to the Barack Obama rally on Saturday.

Benjamin woke up as soon as the line started moving.

Six hours, one long line, an ice cream cone and three hot secret service men later we found ourselves just 20 or 30 feet away from Obama…

But Benjamin didn’t seem to care. So he found a place to hide and another form of entertainment…

A sweet man next to us gave Benjamin his first Obama pin.

It was hard to take pictures. We only had about one square foot of space to move… but we made it.

Three people in the crowd fainted from the heat. Obama saw one of them drop, stopped his speech and threw him his own water bottle.

And after it was over the father in front of us, there with his three children and wife, looked at us and said, “I was a single father once too, for years. I know what it’s like. Keep it up. Your children (Benjamin and his friend Sydney) are great kids.” He had tears in his eyes, from watching this speech with his own children and from seeing ours – so young and there to witness this shift in our history.

It really was beyond words.

Obama may just be an eloquent speaker but the spirit in that crowd – that’s exactly what this country needs right now. Hope for something greater. That we can leave this country better than we found it… for the next generation.

Related posts:

1. Single Mamas for Obama!
2. Obama Calls Out Dead Beat Dads
3. Dear Senator Obama: Please stop spamming me.

I don’t know why this feels like a confession.

I’m not ashamed. I don’t even think anything I’m about to tell you is “bad.” It’s just that I’ve been keeping it from you and that in itself is more of the confession. I try to be as honest as I can here. The price for my honesty is a small one to pay, if my fellow single mothers learn or gain from my dating experiences.

Here it is:

I have a maintenance man or a Mr. Right Now.

I can’t quit him and I’m constantly torn. Can I really be with someone who isn’t really that into me? Is this bad for Benjamin? Then I remember how hard it is out there – how hard it is to find that elusive chemistry, how hard it is to find a man who gets me. But… and it’s a big “but”…

If I’m fanning the flames of chemistry with Mr. Right Now will I miss Mr. Right?

I’ve been trying not to let these fears get to me, because every time they do – they turn out to be completely bottomless. What’s the point?

So who is Mr. Right Now? Someone you all know, or at least someone my long-time readers know. Kris. We met, nearly a year ago, on a night when I’d decided to completely write off men. I was finally content with being single and then he walked into the bar. One week later as we lay next to each other he cradled me in his arms, squeezed me tight and then whispered in my ears, “I think you’re my girl.”

I smiled to myself in the dark. It was adorable. Absolutely adorable. And it was the way he said it, this 23-year-old who had never really been in love before, now falling for – of all people – a single mother. He had no idea what was in store. And neither did I.

My fear then was that he would run away once he got a taste of my real life.

But he didn’t. We only fell deeper. Me, completely relaxed, like I’d never been before. For the first time I learned how to just have fun with someone. To leave my expectations and fears at the door and just enjoy the moment. In the end, we broke up, not once, but twice. They weren’t angry, dramatic break ups – just bitter sweet.

And since the big break up in March we’ve been seeing each other on and off.  I’ve also been seeing other men… or trying to. But each dating experience inevitably ends with a few awkward kisses and then me telling them, “I just can’t.”

If I didn’t have a Mr. Right Now would those dates have panned out?

I’d like to believe not. But I can’t be sure. Recently I threw in the towel. Why bother dating these other guys if my interest in them doesn’t compete with my interest in Kris? And besides, I don’t have time. If the guy even has a remote chance, I’ve got to feel something – and I just wasn’t. I confessed my little predicament to Kris. We were standing outside of a movie theater.

“I’m trying to date other guys,” I said, he’d heard this before.

“Good, that’s good.”

“But I’m not interested in any of them.”

“Why?” he looked confused, yes – Kris truly does want me to date other men. He wants me to find someone worthy. He doesn’t feel like he’s up for the job – for the job of the permanent man.

“I try to be interested,” I am flustered, he’s so gorgeous, those green-hazel eyes and his dark hair – my Clark Kent (he’s a bit of a nerd), “I think I’m not because I still like you. I only want to be with you. So, there you have it. Do with that what you will – but I just had to tell you.”

He smiled. A big smile. I was relieved, part of me thought he was going to look at me with nothing in his eyes. “I love dating you too … but I can’t be your rock, I can’t move in with you or anything.”

Note to dating single moms: Apparently unless you spell it out very clearly, some men assume you want to move in with them. I have no clue how Kris conjured up this fear. There was the one time I told him he could move in and be my man slave – but I assumed he knew I was kidding.

“I don’t need a rock and I definitely don’t want anyone moving in with me – especially not you!” We both started laughing and walked hand and hand to a coffee shop next to the theater.

I would be leaving for Denmark in three weeks.

I left with an open mind and Kris’ blessings to, “Have fun, damn it!” And I know that in Thomas’ case, the Kris thing – whatever it is – had no effect on the lack of sparkage there. The sparks, with Thomas, from the beginning were largely friendship sparks. We are long-distance friends, old friends who trust each other but romance has always alluded us.

Everything I’ve been writing since March has been completely truthful, but it got to a point where I just needed to tell you about a missing ingredient. And if you’re a new reader and want the skinny on Kris, use my search field (top right hand corner) and type in his name. You’ll see tons of past posts.

I don’t know why I can’t shake him or if I even should. I do enjoy him tremendously for certain single mama needs. Sometimes I think I can handle it. Just be with someone – casually – and then I catch myself daydreaming about something more… about someone who can give me more. I can’t fall for Kris. Every time I do the feelings are quickly snuffed out by the stark reality that he’s just now trying to figure out life – let alone women.

Please tell me you’ve been here before – or that at the very least, you’re taking something away from me spilling my guts.

P.S.

I feel better now.

Related posts:

1. Date night.
2. One side effect of being a dating single mama…my baby is trying to make out with me.
3. The Single Mom Dating Conundrum.

Just wanted to take a moment to remind everyone that tonight the first candidate raised by a single mother will accept his nomination for President of the United States of America. 

And hopefully Joe Biden, a single father, will take the stage as well. After that I might watch take a minute to catch some Michael Phelps videos. 

So proud and hopeful. This is an historic night on many levels. 

P.S. 

If you’re still on the fence about Obama read about his Father’s Day speech calling out dead beat dads.

Related posts:

1. Obama Calls Out Dead Beat Dads
2. Shocking Hillary Clinton Video
3. Single Mamas for Obama!

Pronunciation: mommy’s \ˈmānt-nən(t)s man

Function: noun

1. A man a single mother calls for any repairs around the house or in the bedroom.

2. Crucial for single mom survival.

3. Can be boyfriend, lover, ex-boyfriend, neighbor or friend with benefits.

4. Term is only used as a joke between adults (usually the maintenance man and mommy) not with children.

I know you were expecting more on Denmark but because of jet lag I passed out early last night and can’t write much. All in good time, but first – what do you think about this Single Mom Survival Tool? A Mommy Maintenance Man? Do you have one? Do you need one?

No related posts.

When I found Kristin’s blog we had both taken opposite sides in a debate on fake wedding rings. I made some ridiculous comments, as I often do… fortunately she forgave me and although we never found common ground on that issue we moved past our differences only to realize that we have a lot in common.

“Are you sure you’re not a slightly younger, darker version of myself?” she wrote me once. I agreed. Aside from our feelings on wedding bands, the similarities between us are eerie.

I am now, along with thousands of others, completely hooked to her blog. Her writing is humble, powerful and single mom or not, it shakes you to your core, stirs your emotions and immediately hooks you into wondering what awaits Kristin, her brother and her adorable 3-year-old son, Nolan.

Today she is sharing a story with us that you won’t find on her blog – the story of how Kristin met Nolan’s father, someone she has recently found the power to forgive. Please read every word of this…

Shattering, Shattered, Grateful

By Kristin, single mother and author of Better Now

The concert had just started and I was standing at the makeshift bar at the back of the auditorium, contemplating the merits of beer versus vodka coolers. I was on the tail-end of a crumpled three year relationship, twenty-eight and wired, standing with a plethora of bar-star girlfriends, giddy with the surrounding pulse of music, adrenaline, and young male sweat.

“Heineken?” I glanced over at my friend Mel, black hair shining over one shoulder, leaning over shouting into the ear of another friend, already tipsy from ciders and pizza at the adjoining pub.
She turned to look at me. “Sure!”

I pulled out a crumpled ten and took two beers from the ice tub, about to nod at the beleaguered bartender when I saw him.

He stood half a foot above the crowd, wearing a short-sleeved green t-shirt and a blue baseball hat, low on his eyes. His hair was black and curled around his ears. Square jaw, rippling arm muscles and his greenbrown eyes suddenly met mine and something fused in the blue laser of the indie band and my heart froze, useless. I stood melded to the spot as if in a warbled dream. I don’t know what I was feeling, exactly, but I knew it was overwhelming and that I’d never felt it before. He grinned and walked straight toward me and then past, next to Mel in line for the bar. He stooped down and said something to her and I stood with ice-cold beer hands, incredulous. Then he walked a few steps away.

“Holy shit,” I turned toward her, adrenaline racing,”Who the hell was that? You know him?”

“Funny,” she said,”He just said the exact same thing to me.”

***

An hour later, he and I had purposely misplaced our friends, holding hands as we stumbled to the front of the auditorium to the tune of Coca Cola. We had exchanged a few words, hi and nice to meet you and the rest of our words were silent, mute communication between our eyes, hands, bodies. Chemical, inexplicable conversation. We went outside to breathe the green-scented spring air, and without saying anything he took my face in his hands and kissed me, completely and unabashedly.

“You,” I thought, “Are going to change my life.”

***

I was with him for almost four years. The shockingly handsome stranger at the Modest Mouse concert became my boyfriend, my soulmate, my partner in crime. We were the couple that made everyone sick: kissing in pubs, giggling silently at parties, rubbing legs at hockey games. We were young and tall and full of potential, partying into the wee hours and exchanging drunken pledges, until two unexpected blue lines changed my life. But not his.

We tried to make it work, we fought tooth and nail: tears, brawls, sobbing pleas. The confidence of alcohol and physical attraction that brought us together is ultimately what drove us apart. I morphed from party girl to nervous, diligent, expectant Mama. He wondered what happened to his carefree concert girl. We both cried, in the delivery room, when I gave birth to his boy. Two years later, we sobbed again, as we realized that inexplicable attraction cannot stand on its own.

***

Everyday I see him in the gait of my small son. His body is right there in the comically large hands, his spirit is there in our boy’s tenacious athleticism, his genes are responsible for the way my son sticks his tongue out when he’s concentrating. He changed my life, for the better. He gave me a gift that will last me the rest of my life, and when I think of that night at the concert, I wish he was here to see it. Though that night ended in tears, several years later, I wouldn’t change it for the world.

He gave me hope, he granted me the gift of life, and, in the ashes of it all, he has left me with good memories that will live forever in the eyes of our son.

Related posts:

1. Single Mom Dating Tips, Part 1