As a kid, I remember being very sad when my parents announced they were separating. I didn’t want my dad to move out and I was scared about what it would mean for our family when he did. I remember sitting in the family room in our little cape cod on Morgan Avenue, wildly sobbing, begging them to change their minds.
After Dad moved into a little apartment on the south end of town, the sadness began to dissipate. A peaceful calm settled over our house – there was no more arguing, no more tension-filled dinners.
Even as a 10 year old, I remember realizing that this new arrangement was better.
I learned that my parents’ happiness was what was important – regardless of if they lived in the same house or not. And, I realized that happy parents – not stressed out, bitter, argumentative ones – make a kid feel more secure and confident. They’re also more fun. Looking back, I have more memories of having fun and laughing after they divorced.
I’ve applied this lesson to my own divorce. I’m a firm believer that kids aren’t screwed up because their parents are divorced – they’re screwed up because their parents didn’t handle the divorce well.
I watched an Oprah once where a bunch of unhappy women blamed their parents for all of their troubles with love and money. One woman said her inability to form lasting, healthy relationships was because her parents were divorced and she never had positive role models to show what a happy, successful marriage looks like. She said she just didn’t want to make the same mistake as her parents did.
That’s bullshit.
Life is a collection of experiences – good and bad. I don’t view my marriage and subsequent divorce as mistakes. Don’t get me wrong, they weren’t my favorite of all my experiences – but none of it was a mistake. I have three amazing children from that relationship. Getting divorced was hard, but I’ve emerged a stronger, more confident person now. And that’s better, right?
So, even with the benefit of hindsight, I’d accept that proposal all over again.
I feel I represent someone who’s better because of divorce (my parents and my own). I have observed my parents’ parting and have applied those lessons to become better communicator, better mother and better participant in my own relationships.
In addition, I’ve applied those lessons to make my own divorce better…better for me, my ex-husband and my kids.
As you may know, I’m a big fan of lists, so I’ve put together a list of Lessons Learned from my Parents’ Divorce. Some of these things I’ve learned by watching them do things well and to be fair, (and with all due respect to my beloved parents), some of these lessons are based on things they didn’t handle quite so well. Nevertheless, here it is – in no particular order…
Lessons Learned from my Parents’ Divorce
1) Be honest and open with your kids and explain things to them in a way they can understand.
Back in 1983, on that sad day in our living room, I remember my dad used a clever way to help my brothers and I understand what was happening. He held his hand up and explained that it represented our family (five fingers = five family members). He crossed two of his fingers (like you do for luck) and said that that’s how he and Mom used to be – very close.
Then he uncrossed his fingers to illustrate that they’d grown apart. He pointed out that even though the fingers were uncrossed, the hand was still intact. The fingers would always be a part of the same hand. Like the hand, our family would always be connected, regardless of who lived where.
I explained my own divorce to my kids in this very same way and I continue to try to explain things in terms they understand.
2) Respect your kids’ relationship with your ex.
My kids love and trust both me and my ex-husband. I try hard to make sure my words and actions about him are influenced by this fact. Bashing my ex verbally may make me look or feel better in the short term, but what’s the gain for my kids?
Even if he is at fault in some way, it doesn’t matter. I need to keep my mouth shut and respect the kids’ relationship with their dad. Otherwise I look petty and spiteful (the exact opposite of trying to make myself look/feel better in the first place).
Respecting those boundaries is better for everyone – really, it is.
3) Co-parent in a business-like manner.
I like to think of me and my ex as business associates. Together, we’re Family Incorporated, and our mission statement centers around the common goal of turning our kids into confident, responsible tax-payers.
We need to agree on the major points of upbringing (our business model) and pool our resources (time, money, energy) to successfully implement our strategic plan (growing little people into self-sufficient big ones). We set emotion aside and try to approach challenges logically and in a way that works for each associate.
For example, when my three year-old son breaks standard operating procedures and refused to stay in bed (at my house and at his dad’s), we held a conference call to address the issue.
Together, we determined that a zero-tolerance approach was best and outlined a game plan. Our objective was to overcome the obstacle of the boy getting up repeatedly, seeking attention. So our plan was this: The minute he’s out of his room, he’s marched straight back to bed without any coddling and with minimal conversation. This plan would be implemented each time he got up – regardless of at whose house he was sleeping.
The little guy eventually learned that Mom and Dad (co-CEOs of Family Incorporated) have the same expectation and deliver the same consequence for not following our family’s Code of Business Conduct. While we have two branch offices (Dad’s place and Mom’s house), the company’s rules and expectations are the same.
4) Communicate!!
Information is power and it’s true in divorced families too. Withholding information doesn’t help anyone. Again, thinking of this like a business relationship, what would happen if the project manager didn’t communicate with the rest of the team?
Thankfully, advances in technology support the ability to communicate with minimal human interaction. My ex and I prefer to text via cell phone, verses have real, live conversations. Text messaging for us is convenient, non-intrusive and keeps communications brief and on-point.
I’m sure my parents would’ve loved to have text messaging and email communication tools back in the mid-eighties. Electronic communication eliminates those, “I didn’t like your tone of voice,”-type problems.
Lessons learned, lessons taught
I learned a lot from my parents’ divorce. I don’t blame them for how my life has turned out – they’ve influenced choices I’ve made, but they’re not responsible for them.
I know my kids are all going to grow up and have problems. I know they’ll sit in a therapist’s office, spilling their guts and I’m pretty sure my name will come up.
And I’m okay with that, really. They may not agree with the choices I’ve made, but will hopefully recognize that my choices and actions have shaped their own decision making in a good way.
Now that I think of it, I hope they’ll get their money’s worth for those therapy sessions. Blaming your divorced parents for your problems will be pretty passé in 2028.
Maybe I should try harder to give them something good and juicy to work with.
Wanted: SWM, must own ear plugs
Most single moms are so busy taking care of kids and home, that they aren’t very good at putting their needs first. For me, the idea of dating seemed like a luxury and about as realistic a venture as sprouting wings and flying to the moon.
When would I find the time? How would the kids feel? Where would I find a sitter with a car but without a life on a Saturday night?
For a long time, when the idea of getting out and meeting someone popped into my head, I’d sweep it away just as quickly. So when a colleague from work unexpectedly asked me out one day, my response went something like this:
“Uh, well, thanks. That’s really nice of you. Um…you know I have kids, right? I’m not really sure that…well, I want to but…I just don’t get many free nights. But I still want to…”
I sounded like an idiot.
But there was a good reason for my hesitation. Logistics aside, dating as a single mom can be really scary. Before I had kids, if I went out with a dud or a jerk, the only person at risk of getting hurt was me. Now, with kids in the equation, there’s a whole new level of pressure.
I was afraid to bring someone new into my life (our lives) until I knew for sure the person was:
A) not a psychopath, and
B) truly liked kids in a genuine, but not-at-all-creepy kind of way.
And, on the flip side, I was nervous about how my kids would respond to someone new. Kids are unpredictable. They say whatever’s on their minds and are prone to unsolicited tantrums and outbursts. What kind of guy would willingly get involved with a lady with three, rambunctious kids?
Frankly, I questioned his sanity for asking me out in the first place.
Despite my stunning response, he assured me he was still interested, really enjoyed kids, and was willing to wait until my calendar freed up.
Okay, I thought. This guy’s different. I’ll give him a try.
Several weeks later, we made that first date happen. And, over time, we saw each other more and more. I learned that he was down to earth, close to his family, and that we shared many interests. Sprinkle in intelligence and a sense of humor and well, what more can you ask for? We just clicked.
After a few months of covert dating – my brood didn’t know I was seeing anyone – he asked when he’d get to meet the kids. Nervously, I suggested we introduce him as “Mom’s friend” and spend the evening at a local festival.
Even though I was initially apprehensive, everyone had a blast. Somewhere between the midway games and cotton candy, I relaxed and just enjoyed the night. After we got home and put everyone to bed, he told me he was impressed by how everyone was.
Frankly, I too, was impressed by their behavior. They were respectful, sweet, and funny. There was no bickering or whining. Looking back, I think they were thrilled to have another grownup to show off for. They told jokes, did cartwheels and, aside from juggling flaming batons on unicycles, were quite entertaining.
“They’re just so…good,” he kept saying.
Every time he said it, I’d blush and thank him, though, on the inside I kept thinking, “Just wait...you haven’t seen anything yet.”
Over the next few weeks, I held my breath, waiting for the first outburst, tantrum or fight. I wondered how long it’d be before my kids showed their true colors. In my house, we do things with gusto. We laugh hard, play hard, and fight hard too. And I wondered how he’d react. Would he turn tail and run?
Sure enough, a few weeks later, the happy façade gave way. We were all in my van, heading out for dinner. My two-year old who, seconds earlier had been singing and giggling, did a prompt 180 and burst into a full-blown temper tantrum. He wailed as he kicked the back of my seat and his face turned as red as the toy fire truck he hurled at the back of my head.
I glanced over to see my new boyfriend’s look of terror.
“What happened?” he whispered. “He was fine just a minute ago.”
“Oh, he does this sometimes,” I said apologetically. “It’s best to just ignore him.”
Ignore him? Yeah, right. I was skilled at tuning out my kids’ outbursts. But asking a single guy who wasn’t used to this to just ignore him was a ridiculous request.
For an instant I figured that this new relationship was doomed. As my boy howled in the back, I could actually visualize a gigantic wedge that would be driven down between our bucket seats.
“You are so going to dump me,” I said, only half joking.
Surprisingly, the fear on his face gave way to a smile.
”I will not be bested by a two-year old,” he said with a sly grin.
Suddenly the giant imaginary wedge disappeared.
Inexplicably, in a matter of seconds, my little guy turned off the waterworks and began to sing. The tantrum was over and my new boyfriend hadn’t jumped from the moving vehicle to get away – not this time.
It is possible for single moms to date, but it comes down to finding the right guy. My advice is to take it slow and be realistic about what you can and can’t expect from everybody – kids and grownups included.
Patience is key, a sense of humor is critical and a set of earplugs in the glove box doesn’t hurt either.
When would I find the time? How would the kids feel? Where would I find a sitter with a car but without a life on a Saturday night?
For a long time, when the idea of getting out and meeting someone popped into my head, I’d sweep it away just as quickly. So when a colleague from work unexpectedly asked me out one day, my response went something like this:
“Uh, well, thanks. That’s really nice of you. Um…you know I have kids, right? I’m not really sure that…well, I want to but…I just don’t get many free nights. But I still want to…”
I sounded like an idiot.
But there was a good reason for my hesitation. Logistics aside, dating as a single mom can be really scary. Before I had kids, if I went out with a dud or a jerk, the only person at risk of getting hurt was me. Now, with kids in the equation, there’s a whole new level of pressure.
I was afraid to bring someone new into my life (our lives) until I knew for sure the person was:
A) not a psychopath, and
B) truly liked kids in a genuine, but not-at-all-creepy kind of way.
And, on the flip side, I was nervous about how my kids would respond to someone new. Kids are unpredictable. They say whatever’s on their minds and are prone to unsolicited tantrums and outbursts. What kind of guy would willingly get involved with a lady with three, rambunctious kids?
Frankly, I questioned his sanity for asking me out in the first place.
Despite my stunning response, he assured me he was still interested, really enjoyed kids, and was willing to wait until my calendar freed up.
Okay, I thought. This guy’s different. I’ll give him a try.
Several weeks later, we made that first date happen. And, over time, we saw each other more and more. I learned that he was down to earth, close to his family, and that we shared many interests. Sprinkle in intelligence and a sense of humor and well, what more can you ask for? We just clicked.
After a few months of covert dating – my brood didn’t know I was seeing anyone – he asked when he’d get to meet the kids. Nervously, I suggested we introduce him as “Mom’s friend” and spend the evening at a local festival.
Even though I was initially apprehensive, everyone had a blast. Somewhere between the midway games and cotton candy, I relaxed and just enjoyed the night. After we got home and put everyone to bed, he told me he was impressed by how everyone was.
Frankly, I too, was impressed by their behavior. They were respectful, sweet, and funny. There was no bickering or whining. Looking back, I think they were thrilled to have another grownup to show off for. They told jokes, did cartwheels and, aside from juggling flaming batons on unicycles, were quite entertaining.
“They’re just so…good,” he kept saying.
Every time he said it, I’d blush and thank him, though, on the inside I kept thinking, “Just wait...you haven’t seen anything yet.”
Over the next few weeks, I held my breath, waiting for the first outburst, tantrum or fight. I wondered how long it’d be before my kids showed their true colors. In my house, we do things with gusto. We laugh hard, play hard, and fight hard too. And I wondered how he’d react. Would he turn tail and run?
Sure enough, a few weeks later, the happy façade gave way. We were all in my van, heading out for dinner. My two-year old who, seconds earlier had been singing and giggling, did a prompt 180 and burst into a full-blown temper tantrum. He wailed as he kicked the back of my seat and his face turned as red as the toy fire truck he hurled at the back of my head.
I glanced over to see my new boyfriend’s look of terror.
“What happened?” he whispered. “He was fine just a minute ago.”
“Oh, he does this sometimes,” I said apologetically. “It’s best to just ignore him.”
Ignore him? Yeah, right. I was skilled at tuning out my kids’ outbursts. But asking a single guy who wasn’t used to this to just ignore him was a ridiculous request.
For an instant I figured that this new relationship was doomed. As my boy howled in the back, I could actually visualize a gigantic wedge that would be driven down between our bucket seats.
“You are so going to dump me,” I said, only half joking.
Surprisingly, the fear on his face gave way to a smile.
”I will not be bested by a two-year old,” he said with a sly grin.
Suddenly the giant imaginary wedge disappeared.
Inexplicably, in a matter of seconds, my little guy turned off the waterworks and began to sing. The tantrum was over and my new boyfriend hadn’t jumped from the moving vehicle to get away – not this time.
It is possible for single moms to date, but it comes down to finding the right guy. My advice is to take it slow and be realistic about what you can and can’t expect from everybody – kids and grownups included.
Patience is key, a sense of humor is critical and a set of earplugs in the glove box doesn’t hurt either.
Me and Mr. Winkie
My son was five months old when his dad moved out, leaving him outnumbered in a house full of women. The poor little guy was left to figure out on his own how to do “boy things.” There’s no way I could teach him how to make those cool machine gun noises, let alone how to properly throw a baseball.
When it came time to potty train him, I didn’t really know where to start. I’d successfully trained his sisters, but they were girls - and part of their training included watching how Mom does it. That approach clearly wouldn’t work here. So, I began asking friends and family for advice.
Should I start him sitting down or standing up? He’s too short to clear the rim of the bowl, so should I pick him up and point him downward or get a step stool?
Because he was vertically challenged, I decided to start him sitting down. He hated that little guard attachment that came with the potty seat, so he popped it off and threw it away, announcing, “I don’t like it, Mama.”
After a few times of having his pee shoot straight out and down his legs instead of in the pot, I taught him how to tuck it down and lean forward. This worked pretty well, until I noticed his pee was still not hitting the water. Instead it was running under the seat and down the front of the bowl, pooling on the floor.
Now, with the bathroom stocked with Clorox towelettes and flushable baby wipes, we tried a new approach. This time he stood on a stool, with me behind him, holding him steady. He preferred to stand, but not by himself, since being up so high made him feel wobbly.
The first time he peed standing up, it shot upward, like a fire hose, nailing the back of the toilet and the surrounding wall. I couldn’t believe the force with which he peed – especially in the morning. The pressure was incredible.
So, we began to tackle the issue of aim. Recalling advice from a friend, I tossed a few Cheerios into the bowl and encouraged him to use them as a target. Confused, he looked up and told me (with a look of concern) the cereal shouldn’t go in the potty.
“No honey, you’re not going to eat it, you’re going to pee on it,” I explained. He shrugged his shoulders and complied. He tried to take aim by moving his hips from side to side and leaning forward – an approach that was creative, but not effective. Using this style, he hit the water for one, brief instant, and then ended up nailing the shower curtain, vanity and a towel rack as he swiveled his hips.
I knew I had to get him to take hold and take aim, but I wasn’t sure what terminology to use.
Penis sounded too clinical. Besides, it reminded me of story a friend once told me about growing up with her psychologist mother. The woman was strictly against using cutie-pie names like pee-pee or woo-woo to describe body parts. Instead, she insisted they use correct anatomical terminology. She felt that euphemisms were ridiculous and downright embarrassing. Sadly, her plan backfired when one of her daughters fell off her bike and ran into the house yelling at the top of her lungs, “MOM! I HURT MY VAGINA!”
I considered using the word pee-pee, but decided against it because pee-pee is what comes out and I don’t want him touching that.
Another friend (also a single mother) suggested I call it Mr. Winkie. Her daycare provider called it that and her son didn’t seem to have a problem telling Mr. Winkie where to squirt. I tried it out a few times, but it just didn’t roll off the tongue.
Finally, I settled on pee-pee maker. I know it’s a mouthful, but he gets it and I’m not embarrassed to say it out loud – which is good, because I find I’m saying it often.
“Hold your pee-pee maker and squirt it in the water.”
“No, you do it,” he says, folding his arms and piddling on the floor.
“That is your pee-pee maker, not mine. You do it.”
Still, he refused to touch it. I guess he thought he would eventually perfect his fancy-dancy hip maneuver.
After another week arguing over who was responsible for whose pee-pee maker, I finally figured out why he wouldn’t grab on and take aim. One day, after I had to aim for him, he refused to wash his hands.
His argument: “I didn’t touch anything,”
Once I convinced him that he has to wash his hands every time he goes potty, regardless of what he did or didn’t touch, he finally relented. Now, when he goes, he takes hold and hits the water a good 75% of the time, which I call success.
Potty training my son was a long, tough journey, but together, we made it through. He’s even trying to go all by himself, without help, which when he perfects his aim, will be just one more milestone that makes my life easier.
In the end, I won the potty war at my house. My boy is peeing like a pro and shows no hesitation to reach down and take matters into this own hands. In fact, this new willingness to reach down there has evolved into a sort of fondness for it. I caught him a few times just today, “feeling things out”, if you know what I mean.
The more I think about it, I guess I can claim at least partial credit for teaching him one of those “boy things.”
When it came time to potty train him, I didn’t really know where to start. I’d successfully trained his sisters, but they were girls - and part of their training included watching how Mom does it. That approach clearly wouldn’t work here. So, I began asking friends and family for advice.
Should I start him sitting down or standing up? He’s too short to clear the rim of the bowl, so should I pick him up and point him downward or get a step stool?
Because he was vertically challenged, I decided to start him sitting down. He hated that little guard attachment that came with the potty seat, so he popped it off and threw it away, announcing, “I don’t like it, Mama.”
After a few times of having his pee shoot straight out and down his legs instead of in the pot, I taught him how to tuck it down and lean forward. This worked pretty well, until I noticed his pee was still not hitting the water. Instead it was running under the seat and down the front of the bowl, pooling on the floor.
Now, with the bathroom stocked with Clorox towelettes and flushable baby wipes, we tried a new approach. This time he stood on a stool, with me behind him, holding him steady. He preferred to stand, but not by himself, since being up so high made him feel wobbly.
The first time he peed standing up, it shot upward, like a fire hose, nailing the back of the toilet and the surrounding wall. I couldn’t believe the force with which he peed – especially in the morning. The pressure was incredible.
So, we began to tackle the issue of aim. Recalling advice from a friend, I tossed a few Cheerios into the bowl and encouraged him to use them as a target. Confused, he looked up and told me (with a look of concern) the cereal shouldn’t go in the potty.
“No honey, you’re not going to eat it, you’re going to pee on it,” I explained. He shrugged his shoulders and complied. He tried to take aim by moving his hips from side to side and leaning forward – an approach that was creative, but not effective. Using this style, he hit the water for one, brief instant, and then ended up nailing the shower curtain, vanity and a towel rack as he swiveled his hips.
I knew I had to get him to take hold and take aim, but I wasn’t sure what terminology to use.
Penis sounded too clinical. Besides, it reminded me of story a friend once told me about growing up with her psychologist mother. The woman was strictly against using cutie-pie names like pee-pee or woo-woo to describe body parts. Instead, she insisted they use correct anatomical terminology. She felt that euphemisms were ridiculous and downright embarrassing. Sadly, her plan backfired when one of her daughters fell off her bike and ran into the house yelling at the top of her lungs, “MOM! I HURT MY VAGINA!”
I considered using the word pee-pee, but decided against it because pee-pee is what comes out and I don’t want him touching that.
Another friend (also a single mother) suggested I call it Mr. Winkie. Her daycare provider called it that and her son didn’t seem to have a problem telling Mr. Winkie where to squirt. I tried it out a few times, but it just didn’t roll off the tongue.
Finally, I settled on pee-pee maker. I know it’s a mouthful, but he gets it and I’m not embarrassed to say it out loud – which is good, because I find I’m saying it often.
“Hold your pee-pee maker and squirt it in the water.”
“No, you do it,” he says, folding his arms and piddling on the floor.
“That is your pee-pee maker, not mine. You do it.”
Still, he refused to touch it. I guess he thought he would eventually perfect his fancy-dancy hip maneuver.
After another week arguing over who was responsible for whose pee-pee maker, I finally figured out why he wouldn’t grab on and take aim. One day, after I had to aim for him, he refused to wash his hands.
His argument: “I didn’t touch anything,”
Once I convinced him that he has to wash his hands every time he goes potty, regardless of what he did or didn’t touch, he finally relented. Now, when he goes, he takes hold and hits the water a good 75% of the time, which I call success.
Potty training my son was a long, tough journey, but together, we made it through. He’s even trying to go all by himself, without help, which when he perfects his aim, will be just one more milestone that makes my life easier.
In the end, I won the potty war at my house. My boy is peeing like a pro and shows no hesitation to reach down and take matters into this own hands. In fact, this new willingness to reach down there has evolved into a sort of fondness for it. I caught him a few times just today, “feeling things out”, if you know what I mean.
The more I think about it, I guess I can claim at least partial credit for teaching him one of those “boy things.”
Be careful what you wish for
Due to my ex-husband’s crazy work schedule, I have my kids most of the time. He takes them on one-night visits about once every 7-10 days, which leaves him aching to see them more, and me fairly exhausted by the time one of my “breaks” come along.
I say “breaks” because typically I use those nights to do some pesky chore or run errands that’d be difficult or downright impossible to accomplish with three kids in tow. My friends tell me to relax and take a bubble bath, but more often than not, I’m using that time to scrub a dirty ring from the tub – not soak in it.
So, you’d think that when my ex informed me he has a full week of vacation coming up, and that he’d like to take the kids for 5 straight days – I’d be thrilled. Surprisingly enough (especially to me), the thought of being without them for almost a week makes me nauseous.
Seriously, I feel sick to my stomach just thinking about it.
When you’re solely responsible for your kids 99% of the time, it’s hard to just hand the reigns over to someone else. Don’t get me wrong, I trust my ex completely – he’s a great dad. It’s just hard to turn off being in full-time mom-mode, ya know?
I remember the first few times the kids went away for a one-night stay. At first I thought I would pamper myself by doing my nails or enjoying a glass of wine and a good book. Instead, I puttered around the house, walking from room to room, missing the kids. I felt (and most certainly looked) pathetic.
The next time they went away, I had visions of accomplishing all sorts of errands. I’d do some shopping free from the cries of “Mom, can I have this?” every ten steps. However, in reality, I crashed out on my couch and fell asleep by 6:30 p.m., not having accomplished a thing. I think it was a combination of exhaustion and depression. My body just gave out and I shut down.
Over the last three years, it’s taken me a while to begin enjoying my nights off and actually use that time more efficiently.
So, what am I going to do with a full week off? I think it’s going to shake down like this:
Early in the week, I know I’ll be full of energy and eager to get out of the house. I really need to reconnect with some of my long, lost friends (the ones without kids, especially). And I’m dying to see a movie out in a movie theater. It can be any movie – so long as it’s not animated, or has animals that talk.
And I want to go shopping – but instead of getting things for the kids, I plan to come home with a few little treasures just for me. This won’t be a crazy splurge that I’ll regret later. Instead I’ll get something small but personal, like new perfume. I haven’t bought new perfume – or have had anyone to buy it for me – for years. The other day someone told me I smelled good and asked what I was wearing. Embarrassing as it was, I had to fess up. It was just my Lady Speedstick. Yes, new perfume. Definitely.
I’ll also catch up on some much-needed downtime. This will be a great opportunity to get some decent sleep. As it stands now, at least every other night, someone creeps into my bed due to a bad dream, upset tummy or just because. I have to admit that on one level, I love it – my kids are great snugglers. But on the other hand, sleeping with your kids isn’t really restful sleep. Someone’s always snoring or poking you with their bony elbows. A week without a nighttime visitor may be a tough adjustment, but one that will be well worth it.
This weeklong break will be good for all of us. When the kids return, I’ll be rested and rejuvenated. My batteries will be fully charged. I know I’ll be more patient and will appreciate them more. My desire to cook will return and I’ll be eager to eat some good, home-cooked meals myself.
The more I think about it, the less apprehensive I feel. Instead of a twinge of nausea, I’m beginning to feel a twitter of excitement. Instead of dread, I’m actually looking forward to this.
Still…we’ll see how I feel when I see them drive away in their dad’s white Ford. Seeing my whole life drive off, not to return for almost a week, will surely make me feel sad and lonely.
But I know that their return five days later will bring me indescribable joy. I’ll be elated when they rush me, shouting, “Mom! Mom!”
I can feel myself getting a little misty just thinking about it now.
For me, with my kids in my arms, the planets are aligned and my world is in order. I silently complain that I wish I had more “me time” but I know deep in my bones that my kids are my life and I need them near.
Time away, whether it’s one day or five, reminds me of who I am and what I’ve been put on this earth to do. I’m a mother – their mother – and a damn good one. And it doesn’t matter if my perfume is nothing more than Fresh Scent deodorant.
I say “breaks” because typically I use those nights to do some pesky chore or run errands that’d be difficult or downright impossible to accomplish with three kids in tow. My friends tell me to relax and take a bubble bath, but more often than not, I’m using that time to scrub a dirty ring from the tub – not soak in it.
So, you’d think that when my ex informed me he has a full week of vacation coming up, and that he’d like to take the kids for 5 straight days – I’d be thrilled. Surprisingly enough (especially to me), the thought of being without them for almost a week makes me nauseous.
Seriously, I feel sick to my stomach just thinking about it.
When you’re solely responsible for your kids 99% of the time, it’s hard to just hand the reigns over to someone else. Don’t get me wrong, I trust my ex completely – he’s a great dad. It’s just hard to turn off being in full-time mom-mode, ya know?
I remember the first few times the kids went away for a one-night stay. At first I thought I would pamper myself by doing my nails or enjoying a glass of wine and a good book. Instead, I puttered around the house, walking from room to room, missing the kids. I felt (and most certainly looked) pathetic.
The next time they went away, I had visions of accomplishing all sorts of errands. I’d do some shopping free from the cries of “Mom, can I have this?” every ten steps. However, in reality, I crashed out on my couch and fell asleep by 6:30 p.m., not having accomplished a thing. I think it was a combination of exhaustion and depression. My body just gave out and I shut down.
Over the last three years, it’s taken me a while to begin enjoying my nights off and actually use that time more efficiently.
So, what am I going to do with a full week off? I think it’s going to shake down like this:
Early in the week, I know I’ll be full of energy and eager to get out of the house. I really need to reconnect with some of my long, lost friends (the ones without kids, especially). And I’m dying to see a movie out in a movie theater. It can be any movie – so long as it’s not animated, or has animals that talk.
And I want to go shopping – but instead of getting things for the kids, I plan to come home with a few little treasures just for me. This won’t be a crazy splurge that I’ll regret later. Instead I’ll get something small but personal, like new perfume. I haven’t bought new perfume – or have had anyone to buy it for me – for years. The other day someone told me I smelled good and asked what I was wearing. Embarrassing as it was, I had to fess up. It was just my Lady Speedstick. Yes, new perfume. Definitely.
I’ll also catch up on some much-needed downtime. This will be a great opportunity to get some decent sleep. As it stands now, at least every other night, someone creeps into my bed due to a bad dream, upset tummy or just because. I have to admit that on one level, I love it – my kids are great snugglers. But on the other hand, sleeping with your kids isn’t really restful sleep. Someone’s always snoring or poking you with their bony elbows. A week without a nighttime visitor may be a tough adjustment, but one that will be well worth it.
This weeklong break will be good for all of us. When the kids return, I’ll be rested and rejuvenated. My batteries will be fully charged. I know I’ll be more patient and will appreciate them more. My desire to cook will return and I’ll be eager to eat some good, home-cooked meals myself.
The more I think about it, the less apprehensive I feel. Instead of a twinge of nausea, I’m beginning to feel a twitter of excitement. Instead of dread, I’m actually looking forward to this.
Still…we’ll see how I feel when I see them drive away in their dad’s white Ford. Seeing my whole life drive off, not to return for almost a week, will surely make me feel sad and lonely.
But I know that their return five days later will bring me indescribable joy. I’ll be elated when they rush me, shouting, “Mom! Mom!”
I can feel myself getting a little misty just thinking about it now.
For me, with my kids in my arms, the planets are aligned and my world is in order. I silently complain that I wish I had more “me time” but I know deep in my bones that my kids are my life and I need them near.
Time away, whether it’s one day or five, reminds me of who I am and what I’ve been put on this earth to do. I’m a mother – their mother – and a damn good one. And it doesn’t matter if my perfume is nothing more than Fresh Scent deodorant.
Single mom secrets revealed
The other day, when a new acquaintance learned that in addition to working full time, I’m also a single mother to three young kids, she burst out with shock and surprise.
“Are you kidding? I have one kid and a husband and some days, I think I’m going nuts.”
This reaction is actually quite common. Most people can’t imagine what it’s like to raise one kid, let alone three on their own.
That kind of praise and adoration is extremely gratifying. Working solo means that any kind of feedback – especially that of the positive variety – brightens my day and boosts my ego.
At this point in the conversation, I usually blush and use my favorite one liner:
“I guess I’m like that Nike commercial. I just…do it.”
It’s true. Every single parent finds a way to “just do it” using their own unique system. For me, my system hinges on being extremely organized and pretty darn resourceful.
Naturally, outsiders want to know how single moms juggle everything. And lucky for you, I’m not shy. So, here’s a glimpse into the busiest part of this single mom’s day – the morning.
4:30 a.m. - Up and at ‘em
For me, getting up early is mission critical. After I stumble out of bed and consume enormous amounts of coffee, I do a few loads of laundry, take care of the dishwasher and either defrost something or prepare a crock pot for dinner.
Next, I make bag breakfasts for everyone and pack afternoon snacks. Then, I make sure that all permission slips, book orders and teachers’ notes have been addressed. I do a quick weather check and pick everyone’s outfits.
5:30 a.m. – Get ready
I try to be 95% ready before rousing the kids – and I do it in just 30 minutes. As a result, I’ve learned to streamline my morning beauty regime considerably, without compromising the end result too much.
Getting dressed now would be a bad idea. With an hour to go, a variety of likely scenarios could wrinkle or soil my ensemble. Instead, I select an outfit and set it aside, to be put on just two minutes prior to departure.
6 a.m. - Get the kids into gear
I’m extremely thankful that my school-age kids can read and tell time. With our “Morning To Do List” there’s never a question of what needs to be done. It reads:
1) Get up.
2) Get dressed.
3) Brush teeth.
4) Brush hair.
5) Put on shoes.
6) Load back packs.
In addition, they know they need to have the list completed by 6:50 a.m. and watch the clock accordingly.
The list system works well. Instead of barking orders, I calmly ask, “So, are you done with the list?” The girls know what they have to do and on most mornings do it with little-to-no complaints.
Waking up my toddler on the other hand, is a much more delicate operation. In the morning, he’s particularly fragile – a tantrum time bomb, ready to cry and go limp in protest at any second.
To this end, I’ve added 5 minutes of uninterrupted snuggle time. This allows him to wake up slowly. If I don’t take the extra time, he’s sure to meltdown – which will only end up wasting valuable time.
7 a.m. - And…we’re off!
Once coats are on and we pile into the van, we do a quick check of the time. If we’re all bucked in by 7 a.m., we rejoice and celebrate. If we’re late, we try to figure out what went wrong and how we can get ready faster tomorrow.
And thus, the shuttle departs. I drop everyone off at daycare and the before-school program then head downtown for work. If the planets are aligned and traffic is cooperative, I’m at my desk by 7:45, ready to (get this) begin my day.
Begin my day indeed! I’ve been up for over three hours. I’ve folded laundry, prepped dinner and got three kids up, dressed and out the door in less than an hour.
I think it’s actually time to call it day, don't you?
~ ~ ~ ~
The secret’s out
So, there you have it. There’s no magic behind how single parents do it. All it takes is organization and a little creativity.
Well, that and a sense of humor.
Getting your kids to work together as a team is a clear challenge. So maintaining a good attitude is crucial. In my house, positivity inspires cooperation and negativity breeds rebellion. I’m pro cooperation, so keeping everyone's spirits up (including my own) is essential.
So, the next time you see a single mom, express your amazement and ask her how she does it. You’ll give her a much-appreciated “atta-girl” and possibly learn a few tricks that’ll help your household run more smoothly too.
“Are you kidding? I have one kid and a husband and some days, I think I’m going nuts.”
This reaction is actually quite common. Most people can’t imagine what it’s like to raise one kid, let alone three on their own.
That kind of praise and adoration is extremely gratifying. Working solo means that any kind of feedback – especially that of the positive variety – brightens my day and boosts my ego.
At this point in the conversation, I usually blush and use my favorite one liner:
“I guess I’m like that Nike commercial. I just…do it.”
It’s true. Every single parent finds a way to “just do it” using their own unique system. For me, my system hinges on being extremely organized and pretty darn resourceful.
Naturally, outsiders want to know how single moms juggle everything. And lucky for you, I’m not shy. So, here’s a glimpse into the busiest part of this single mom’s day – the morning.
4:30 a.m. - Up and at ‘em
For me, getting up early is mission critical. After I stumble out of bed and consume enormous amounts of coffee, I do a few loads of laundry, take care of the dishwasher and either defrost something or prepare a crock pot for dinner.
Next, I make bag breakfasts for everyone and pack afternoon snacks. Then, I make sure that all permission slips, book orders and teachers’ notes have been addressed. I do a quick weather check and pick everyone’s outfits.
5:30 a.m. – Get ready
I try to be 95% ready before rousing the kids – and I do it in just 30 minutes. As a result, I’ve learned to streamline my morning beauty regime considerably, without compromising the end result too much.
Getting dressed now would be a bad idea. With an hour to go, a variety of likely scenarios could wrinkle or soil my ensemble. Instead, I select an outfit and set it aside, to be put on just two minutes prior to departure.
6 a.m. - Get the kids into gear
I’m extremely thankful that my school-age kids can read and tell time. With our “Morning To Do List” there’s never a question of what needs to be done. It reads:
1) Get up.
2) Get dressed.
3) Brush teeth.
4) Brush hair.
5) Put on shoes.
6) Load back packs.
In addition, they know they need to have the list completed by 6:50 a.m. and watch the clock accordingly.
The list system works well. Instead of barking orders, I calmly ask, “So, are you done with the list?” The girls know what they have to do and on most mornings do it with little-to-no complaints.
Waking up my toddler on the other hand, is a much more delicate operation. In the morning, he’s particularly fragile – a tantrum time bomb, ready to cry and go limp in protest at any second.
To this end, I’ve added 5 minutes of uninterrupted snuggle time. This allows him to wake up slowly. If I don’t take the extra time, he’s sure to meltdown – which will only end up wasting valuable time.
7 a.m. - And…we’re off!
Once coats are on and we pile into the van, we do a quick check of the time. If we’re all bucked in by 7 a.m., we rejoice and celebrate. If we’re late, we try to figure out what went wrong and how we can get ready faster tomorrow.
And thus, the shuttle departs. I drop everyone off at daycare and the before-school program then head downtown for work. If the planets are aligned and traffic is cooperative, I’m at my desk by 7:45, ready to (get this) begin my day.
Begin my day indeed! I’ve been up for over three hours. I’ve folded laundry, prepped dinner and got three kids up, dressed and out the door in less than an hour.
I think it’s actually time to call it day, don't you?
~ ~ ~ ~
The secret’s out
So, there you have it. There’s no magic behind how single parents do it. All it takes is organization and a little creativity.
Well, that and a sense of humor.
Getting your kids to work together as a team is a clear challenge. So maintaining a good attitude is crucial. In my house, positivity inspires cooperation and negativity breeds rebellion. I’m pro cooperation, so keeping everyone's spirits up (including my own) is essential.
So, the next time you see a single mom, express your amazement and ask her how she does it. You’ll give her a much-appreciated “atta-girl” and possibly learn a few tricks that’ll help your household run more smoothly too.
Mom, the marketing genius
Everyone knows that moms wear many different hats. As a mother, you naturally assume the roles of teacher, nurse and cleaning lady. They just come with the job.
I knew this heading into my first pregnancy. I was prepared to kiss boo-boos, spend hours explaining long division and wash endless loads of laundry. But what I didn’t expect is how my professional experiences in the business world of sales and marketing would be an essential asset at home with my kids.
They say the best salesman could sell ice to an Eskimo. Well, how about selling last night’s leftovers to a 6 year-old? I suppose I could force my kids to sit at the table until their plates are clean, but honestly, at 7 p.m. with homework and baths yet to do, I simply can’t spare the time.
And so, at dinnertime, my marketing skills come in most handy.
My kids are suspicious of all vegetables, most casseroles and some of the different ways chicken can be prepared. Thus, I’ve become an expert at successfully “selling” meals through creative packaging and a well thought out branding strategy.
At my house, my Southwest Salad (a blend of peppers, black beans and corn) is called “Mom’s Yummy-Time Rainbow Delight”. And one of my breakfast dishes, fried eggs in toast (you know the one -- cut a circle in a slice of bread and fry an egg in the center), is known as “Pretty Princess Peek-A-Boo Eggs”.
Additionally, I’ve found that a creative dinner presentation can turn picky little critics into your biggest culinary fans.
My kids cheer when I serve your run-of-the mill pork chops – diced and on toothpicks. (Truth be told, they gobble up anything on a toothpick.) And serving dinner by candlelight hides the two cups of shredded zucchini baked into my veggie lasagna, which by the way, is called “Garfield’s Favorite Lasagna”.
I’ve even managed to jazz up boring bag lunches by packing “Sandwich Sushi”. (Just flatten the bread with a rolling pin, slap on a little PB&J, then roll it up and slice the whole thing into pinwheels.) Heck, throw in a couple of chopsticks from last week’s takeout and they’re in heaven.
Yes sir, peace and harmony reign at dinnertime when you’ve successfully marketed an otherwise suspicious meal.
Though...it's important to not get cocky and take things too far.
I know from personal experience that it is impossible to hide peas inside shell pasta. It’s an extremely labor-intensive process and is hardly worth the effort. Not to mention the fact that it simply doesn’t work – the peas keep falling out. (Trust me on this one.)
So, when marketing to your children, remember this:
Your kitchen is a lot like a used car dealership. Don’t try to sell a lemon. If you get caught, you'll lose the sale end up with a bunch of sour customers.
I knew this heading into my first pregnancy. I was prepared to kiss boo-boos, spend hours explaining long division and wash endless loads of laundry. But what I didn’t expect is how my professional experiences in the business world of sales and marketing would be an essential asset at home with my kids.
They say the best salesman could sell ice to an Eskimo. Well, how about selling last night’s leftovers to a 6 year-old? I suppose I could force my kids to sit at the table until their plates are clean, but honestly, at 7 p.m. with homework and baths yet to do, I simply can’t spare the time.
And so, at dinnertime, my marketing skills come in most handy.
My kids are suspicious of all vegetables, most casseroles and some of the different ways chicken can be prepared. Thus, I’ve become an expert at successfully “selling” meals through creative packaging and a well thought out branding strategy.
At my house, my Southwest Salad (a blend of peppers, black beans and corn) is called “Mom’s Yummy-Time Rainbow Delight”. And one of my breakfast dishes, fried eggs in toast (you know the one -- cut a circle in a slice of bread and fry an egg in the center), is known as “Pretty Princess Peek-A-Boo Eggs”.
Additionally, I’ve found that a creative dinner presentation can turn picky little critics into your biggest culinary fans.
My kids cheer when I serve your run-of-the mill pork chops – diced and on toothpicks. (Truth be told, they gobble up anything on a toothpick.) And serving dinner by candlelight hides the two cups of shredded zucchini baked into my veggie lasagna, which by the way, is called “Garfield’s Favorite Lasagna”.
I’ve even managed to jazz up boring bag lunches by packing “Sandwich Sushi”. (Just flatten the bread with a rolling pin, slap on a little PB&J, then roll it up and slice the whole thing into pinwheels.) Heck, throw in a couple of chopsticks from last week’s takeout and they’re in heaven.
Yes sir, peace and harmony reign at dinnertime when you’ve successfully marketed an otherwise suspicious meal.
Though...it's important to not get cocky and take things too far.
I know from personal experience that it is impossible to hide peas inside shell pasta. It’s an extremely labor-intensive process and is hardly worth the effort. Not to mention the fact that it simply doesn’t work – the peas keep falling out. (Trust me on this one.)
So, when marketing to your children, remember this:
Your kitchen is a lot like a used car dealership. Don’t try to sell a lemon. If you get caught, you'll lose the sale end up with a bunch of sour customers.
My proudest parenting moments
Just in case you’re planning to nominate me for mother of the year, I’ve compiled some of my greatest motherly moments for your consideration.
Forget great report cards or winning goals – they pale in comparison to these little gems:
~ Fire drill at day care ~
I’d just enrolled my 3 year-old twin daughters in a new day care center. During their first week, as they were standing in line waiting for a drink at the water fountain, one of them saw the fire alarm and pulled it. The entire center evacuated onto the playground as the fire department and several squad cars arrived on the scene.
At the end of the day, the director told me all about the incident. I stood there, apologetically shaking my head and stammering,
“I’m so sorry. So very, very, VERY sorry.”
The director was actually quite nice about the whole thing.
“Really, it’s okay,” she assured me. “We have to do fire drills periodically. And, today we learned that we can evacuate the entire center in less than four minutes – even during nap time.”
~ Notes from teacher ~
Though my twins are identical in appearance, their personalities couldn’t be more opposite.
One is very type A. She’s organized and efficient. She’s the kid who raises her hand in class every time a question is asked, regardless of if she knows the answer or not. This girl mails Santa her Christmas list in July, “to make sure he’ll get it in time.”
My other daughter is very much a free spirit. She’s the kid who likes her hair long, loose and “crazy-looking.” She sings all day long, not caring that she’s off key. And she doesn’t see the point of sitting quietly in class, learning things, when she could be outside right now riding bikes.
Ever since 4-K, I’ve received notes from Little Miss Free Spirit’s teachers regarding her lackadaisical behavior at school. My favorite note came from her second-grade teacher. It read:
“J---- was doing ‘the worm’ during research writing time.”
The only way I could’ve been prouder is if she’d been able to work in a shoulder roll-head-spin combo and ended in a hollow-back freeze. Oh well, it’s something to work on, I guess.
~ Queen ~
I love all kinds of music and like to play my CDs when we’re driving in the van. This means my kids are exposed to songs by artists that aren’t typically played on Radio Disney. An added bonus is that I don’t have to endure too much Hannah Fontana, or whatever her name is.
I pick songs from all genres and we have fun singing along. We’re like a modern day Partridge Family, only without Reuben, instruments or any real talent.
Once, when the girls were four, I could hear them singing in their room. They didn’t have a radio or CD player, so they were singing a capella, trying to recall lyrics by memory alone.
For some reason, their sweet singing erupted into shrill fighting. Then a series of bangs and booms could be heard through the ceiling. How had we suddenly gone from a happy musical number to a full-blown WWF event?
When I went up to investigate, I learned they were arguing over song lyrics – lyrics they learned under my watch.
Specifically, the lyrics to Fat Bottom Girls by Queen.
Oooh, are you gonna take me home tonight?
Oooh, down beside that red firelight;
Are you gonna let it all hang out?
Fat bottomed girls,
You make the rockin' world go round.
The very next day, I added Radio Disney to my presets.
Forget great report cards or winning goals – they pale in comparison to these little gems:
~ Fire drill at day care ~
I’d just enrolled my 3 year-old twin daughters in a new day care center. During their first week, as they were standing in line waiting for a drink at the water fountain, one of them saw the fire alarm and pulled it. The entire center evacuated onto the playground as the fire department and several squad cars arrived on the scene.
At the end of the day, the director told me all about the incident. I stood there, apologetically shaking my head and stammering,
“I’m so sorry. So very, very, VERY sorry.”
The director was actually quite nice about the whole thing.
“Really, it’s okay,” she assured me. “We have to do fire drills periodically. And, today we learned that we can evacuate the entire center in less than four minutes – even during nap time.”
~ Notes from teacher ~
Though my twins are identical in appearance, their personalities couldn’t be more opposite.
One is very type A. She’s organized and efficient. She’s the kid who raises her hand in class every time a question is asked, regardless of if she knows the answer or not. This girl mails Santa her Christmas list in July, “to make sure he’ll get it in time.”
My other daughter is very much a free spirit. She’s the kid who likes her hair long, loose and “crazy-looking.” She sings all day long, not caring that she’s off key. And she doesn’t see the point of sitting quietly in class, learning things, when she could be outside right now riding bikes.
Ever since 4-K, I’ve received notes from Little Miss Free Spirit’s teachers regarding her lackadaisical behavior at school. My favorite note came from her second-grade teacher. It read:
“J---- was doing ‘the worm’ during research writing time.”
The only way I could’ve been prouder is if she’d been able to work in a shoulder roll-head-spin combo and ended in a hollow-back freeze. Oh well, it’s something to work on, I guess.
~ Queen ~
I love all kinds of music and like to play my CDs when we’re driving in the van. This means my kids are exposed to songs by artists that aren’t typically played on Radio Disney. An added bonus is that I don’t have to endure too much Hannah Fontana, or whatever her name is.
I pick songs from all genres and we have fun singing along. We’re like a modern day Partridge Family, only without Reuben, instruments or any real talent.
Once, when the girls were four, I could hear them singing in their room. They didn’t have a radio or CD player, so they were singing a capella, trying to recall lyrics by memory alone.
For some reason, their sweet singing erupted into shrill fighting. Then a series of bangs and booms could be heard through the ceiling. How had we suddenly gone from a happy musical number to a full-blown WWF event?
When I went up to investigate, I learned they were arguing over song lyrics – lyrics they learned under my watch.
Specifically, the lyrics to Fat Bottom Girls by Queen.
Oooh, are you gonna take me home tonight?
Oooh, down beside that red firelight;
Are you gonna let it all hang out?
Fat bottomed girls,
You make the rockin' world go round.
The very next day, I added Radio Disney to my presets.
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