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Posts Tagged ‘single mom’

I am In-Between Times.

Reflected River Bank

There is a pang of farewell that catches me when I least expect it.

There is an expectation of promise.  Of life. Of livelihood.

They criss-cross.  Mingle.  Dance in my dreams and tread through my days.

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We are neither summer nor autumn.

My daughter is neither infant nor child.

They are in-between, and so I am in-between.

It is like the moment before sunrise when the bugs go to sleep and the birds have yet to sing.  It is in-between, undefined in it’s defined in-betweenness.  It is chilling, mesmerizing, and brimming with…something.  Something grande, I suppose.

I may be in-between, but my infant/child is happily defining her now.

I will catch up when I’m ready.  For now, I’m okay drifting a bit.

Hidden Duck

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Yesterday I left this

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For this
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But after the past 20 Hours, what I really need is this
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Shorn Hair, $600

I had my hair trimmed today.

My cute hair-do that I loved and finally found a hairstylist who could manage all my cowlicks, waves, and frizzes.

She went all Edward Scissor Hands on me.

Now I look like a boy.

On the upside, I sold my washer and dryer tonight.

The guy showed up, liked what he saw, and said he’d be back in an hour with a truck and the cash.

Awesome.

Now I have $600 in cash burning a hole in my piggy bank.

The good girl in me wants to put half on the credit card and half in the bank.

The bad girl wants a new computer or a new memory card for my camera or a summer class or new shoes or a mirror for my wall or a bedside table or a vacation.

I’m not sure the good girl will win this time since the bad girl needs revenge for this haircut.

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We woke up 15 minutes before her ride was scheduled to arrive.
I shoved her into clothes, stuck a piece of toast in her hand along with a sippy cup of milk.
I had the foresight to run upstairs and exchange the flannel pj bottoms currently attempting to fall down to my ankles due to a sincere lack of elastic for a pair of dirty cargos.
I pushed her off onto her babysitter, grabbed a cup of tea and sat down at my computer to work.
Four hours later, I still haven’t eaten breakfast, I’m sitting in a pj top and dirty cargos, my eyes are still full of sleep and hair is still in bed-head mode.
Avi comes home in ten minutes and somehow I have accomplished so little in my four hours of kid-free time.
And yet, I’m narcissistic enough to take three of those to write this post.
And now I have two minutes to tame my hair, stick in my lenses and pretend I’ve been wearing a bra all morning.

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I have two new roomies.

One is another single mom.  She’s super cool.  We met through my mother’s group.  We became friends when both of our marriages fell apart.

The other is her daughter.  She’s also super cool.  She’s a year older than Avi and they already get along like two peas in a pod, which is good since they share a bedroom.

We now live in a house.

With a playroom, a dining room, a dishwasher, a laundry room, a walk-up attic, and a yard.  It’s the biggest house I’ve lived in since my childhood.  It may even be bigger than my childhood home.

I haven’t slept all by myself in a bedroom this size since I was 17 and still lived in that childhood home.

I’ve had a hard time getting used to all the space.

Everything is so far apart.

I can’t cook dinner, pee, see my child bouncing on her bed, check my email and watch a movie all within ten steps.

Bed time takes 45 minutes longer just because of all the going up and down of stairs and running down of hallways.

Cleaning up my child’s scavenging trails is an hour long event instead of a 10 minute chore.

I never realized how I had grown so used to small space.  Small, airy spaces.  Not caves.  Just cozy.  I have a feeling, I may grow to miss cozy and will seek it out again one day.

But, in the meantime, I’m liking space.

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Dis/connect

Somewhere in the middle of a day like today, I identify the life-lesson or life-reminder.  I smile.  Move on.  And continue with the day.

On a day like today, my life has a story line:  a beginning, middle, and end, you might say.

On a day like today, I can feel the earth spinning on its axis–and it’s not all that unpleasant.  I can feel myself standing still–and it’s not all that unpleasant.

But, today, a day not unlike any other day of cognizance and self-awareness, I could not and did not identify the life lesson—and, oddly enough, I’m very okay with that.  In fact, I like it.

I woke up to my alarm.  I had unpacking and breakfasting to do before I made myself pretty for a day out.

My new roomie woke up in a slight panic because of her sick child, her sick self, and her desire to get out the door to the aquarium.

I have newly shorn hair.  I can’t decide if I look like my 18 year-old-self or my 50 year-old-self.  Either way, it stuck up at odd angles in bedhead fashion so I had to tackle it with mounds of putty.

I set off, irritated because the new love of my life, my gps, has gone temporarily missing in the move.  It wasn’t until I mentioned this to my first appointment of the day that he pointed out the obvious irony: a lost gps.  I simply admitted that I’d sat at my computer earlier in the day, staring at the google page, wondering whether it would help if I typed in “I can’t find my gps.”  Would google come through and point the way?  I didn’t give in to the pathetic urge to make google my savior, by I was sorely tempted.

My fist date was with Mr. Dad of Two.  Not a “date” I should clarify.  Just a catch-up cup ‘o tea.  A “Hey, how are you since you disappeared and sometimes I think of you so I was just wondering” cup ‘o tea.  It was nice.  And then it got sweetly odd…because we walked out to our cars and he said he had something for me.  He bought it last summer, when he read one of my posts, “and they match.”

They’re black.  And lacy.  And he admitted he’d never get to see them, but he wanted me to have them.

I blushed.  And giggled.  What a girl.

Alone in my car, I fought back a few tears.  Neither said nor happy.  Relieved, I think, upon introspection.  Relieved that there are men in the world who enjoy giving random beautiful gifts.  Just because they can.

And then the tears went away, and I moved on.  And I felt us spinning on the axis, and I wondered where my gps is, and I drove on.

And I arrived at a local community center by way of a trail of purple and yellow balloons.  A baby shower.  A baby shower filled with cousins and little girls running about.  Filled to the brim of lovely old ladies and pink bags of crocheted bonnets.  And I wondered why I wasn’t jealous.  Jealous because my shower was so small and my circle of friends is so small and my family is so small.  Jealous because I dream of another child, and another, and another.  A life full of many children that I will not have for many more years.  But I wasn’t.  Instead, I felt such a deep sense of pride and admiration that this young woman, my friend, would be surrounded by so many women who loved her and wished her well.  How wonderful for her.  How beautiful she is.

And then I drove home.

My roomies were back.  And then they left to go out to dinner.

And then my last roomie came home.

The child of my heart.

And the rest of the day dissapeared in its disconnected connectedness.  It didn’t matter.  Lacy undies, purple balloons, floating gps, rumbly belly.  It didn’t matter.

So we sat and colored.

And then we went to bed.  And her kisses and cuddles have never felt so sweet.

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