“You can't change the past, but you can ruin the present by worrying about the future” ~Unknown
Wow. Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy. Now that I re-read this I'm mad that I didn't realize it was coming. But he did. And now it's done...
January 14th. It's almost time. I can feel it now. The end is approaching. I don't know when but it's coming. And I don't think I am dreading it as much as I thought.
I love this man. Truly. Deeply. And it will hurt a lot when this happens. But I've learned to love myself. I don't know if this pulls away from getting too close to someone. I know this time I've held back a little. After you've had your heart shattered it's tough to completely open it again. I made the decision not to hold myself back from love. But I don't know if I will ever leave myself that vulnerable again.
I can tell that their has been a shift. Phone calls have been more brief. Date nights have been fewer and further between. I know we have both been busy and tired, but we've settled into being an old married couple. He doesn't talk as much about marriage any more and he's the one who brought it up in the first place.
But I want to be an old married couple. I just wanted to be married when we got to that point. Now I think it's just comfortable. I don't know if I've been acting different or pulling back because I'm anticipating the end.
I'm not saying anything though. I don't want to make a problem if there isn't one and I don't want to be the nagging girlfriend.
I think the busy "soccer mom" with three kids was more than he bargained for. It sounded good that our kids were closer in age. But his are closer to college and we still have another 10 years before we get there. He is ready to settle down and start preparing for retirement. I'm not there yet. I've got a lot of life left to live.
I wonder if trying to get fit has caused this shift. I love the way he looks and I know he is ok with my current shape. But I'm doing this so I can still be active 20-30 years from now. I don't know if he gets that.
So I'm still waiting. I won't be posting these until after it happens, so if you are seeing this, the time came and went.
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Monday, June 24, 2013
How to Prepare for a Broken Heart
We often try to prepare ourselves for major events in our lives - graduations, weddings, parenthood, etc. We might condition parts of our bodies such as our brains for learning, our lungs for running a race, our muscles to carry heavy loads. But how does one condition a heart to be broken?
The first thing one must understand is that there are two parts to a broken heart - the physical organ and the shattering of the soul. The organ itself is an amazing object. It draws blood into itself and pumps it back out to every vein in your body. It supplies blood with oxygen and helps to clean out the bad stuff. Without it we would die. Doctors have discovered many ways of repairing this ball of tissue and vessels to keep us alive.
Then there's the soul part of it. The mystical thing we tie to this life-giving muscle. The part that separates us from other animals. The part that makes us who we are. The part that actually breaks. The part that doctors can't fix. Only God can repair this half of the puzzle.
We can condition the physical part of the heart by working out. We can prepare ourselves for battle. But the only thing we can do for the soul side is build lots and lots of imaginary walls around it. Walls that keep us from getting hurt (or so we tell ourselves). Walls that keep us from giving all that we are so we don't get hurt (and in the end makes us the cause of our own pain). There's no way to exercise it. No matter how many times we are let down or have our "hearts broken".
What can you do when you really know you are in for a killer of a broken heart? Our first instinct is to withdraw into ourselves. Hide in our shell and wait for the blast to come. The problem with this tactic is that it shields us from seeing what good might be around us. It's not a one-way mirror.
How about pushing the issue and bringing it to a head so you can deal with it on your own terms? Perhaps a better idea, but only if you are absolutely sure of all of the variables. Did you read all of the signs correctly or are you filling in the blanks from your own fear. If you get this wrong, you have just ended a perfectly good relationship.
Or do you just wait? Wait for the inevitable. Not knowing the time or place, but knowing all of the signs are pointing to that one moment - the moment you know that again you are simply not the right person. All of the time and effort you invested in this relationship is wasted. All of your hopes and dreams thrown away. All of your self-confidence shredded. Because you're not good enough - again. No amount of woman's lib can fix this one. It will be a long time before you can trust the person you are is good enough.
For me - I'm in between waiting and pushing it forward. I'll know the answer soon enough either way. The ending - no matter what the subject - will always be bittersweet.
The first thing one must understand is that there are two parts to a broken heart - the physical organ and the shattering of the soul. The organ itself is an amazing object. It draws blood into itself and pumps it back out to every vein in your body. It supplies blood with oxygen and helps to clean out the bad stuff. Without it we would die. Doctors have discovered many ways of repairing this ball of tissue and vessels to keep us alive.
Then there's the soul part of it. The mystical thing we tie to this life-giving muscle. The part that separates us from other animals. The part that makes us who we are. The part that actually breaks. The part that doctors can't fix. Only God can repair this half of the puzzle.
We can condition the physical part of the heart by working out. We can prepare ourselves for battle. But the only thing we can do for the soul side is build lots and lots of imaginary walls around it. Walls that keep us from getting hurt (or so we tell ourselves). Walls that keep us from giving all that we are so we don't get hurt (and in the end makes us the cause of our own pain). There's no way to exercise it. No matter how many times we are let down or have our "hearts broken".
What can you do when you really know you are in for a killer of a broken heart? Our first instinct is to withdraw into ourselves. Hide in our shell and wait for the blast to come. The problem with this tactic is that it shields us from seeing what good might be around us. It's not a one-way mirror.
How about pushing the issue and bringing it to a head so you can deal with it on your own terms? Perhaps a better idea, but only if you are absolutely sure of all of the variables. Did you read all of the signs correctly or are you filling in the blanks from your own fear. If you get this wrong, you have just ended a perfectly good relationship.
Or do you just wait? Wait for the inevitable. Not knowing the time or place, but knowing all of the signs are pointing to that one moment - the moment you know that again you are simply not the right person. All of the time and effort you invested in this relationship is wasted. All of your hopes and dreams thrown away. All of your self-confidence shredded. Because you're not good enough - again. No amount of woman's lib can fix this one. It will be a long time before you can trust the person you are is good enough.
For me - I'm in between waiting and pushing it forward. I'll know the answer soon enough either way. The ending - no matter what the subject - will always be bittersweet.
That moment when...
(I wrote this March of 2012. I knew then even though I was afraid to say it)
Don't you hate that moment. The moment when you know. Beyond a shadow of a doubt. That it's over. Before they even realize it themselves.
It's like you're on the outside looking in. Reading a novel. Knowing what is just around the corner but the characters can't see it. Scanning ahead quickly so you can get past the inevitable.
I saw it in your eyes that night after Cub Scouts. It was a tough night. But I walked out of the meeting and just knew. I felt every bit of the frustration you tried to mask. I mean, taking on three kids and an overworked soccer mom is a lot to ask for. I knew at that point it was just too much.
But you stayed. At least together. You left for the night and I broke down in tears. Because I knew. I knew at that moment the tide had shifted. You just didn't realize it yet.
Because I love my children more than life itself. And I can't fix them. They are who they are and what they are regardless of my interference. And I am who I am in spite of trying to re-invent myself.
And I heard it in your voice today. Well, not today because I won't be posting this blog just yet. Today being March 5th. Just barely less than a year from when we met. But soon it will be yesterday. I'll wait until you figure it out. Until then I'll wait.
Because I know my heart will shatter again when you do. And you will hesitate to tell me because I know you still care. It's just too much. You will tear yourself up inside trying to figure out the right time to tell me. How to tell me without admitting the real reason why.
So for now I will be still. On edge knowing that the time is coming. Never knowing when the words will come spilling out. Writing this now because I can hold back the tears (barely). I won't be able to then.
Don't you hate that moment. The moment when you know. Beyond a shadow of a doubt. That it's over. Before they even realize it themselves.
It's like you're on the outside looking in. Reading a novel. Knowing what is just around the corner but the characters can't see it. Scanning ahead quickly so you can get past the inevitable.
I saw it in your eyes that night after Cub Scouts. It was a tough night. But I walked out of the meeting and just knew. I felt every bit of the frustration you tried to mask. I mean, taking on three kids and an overworked soccer mom is a lot to ask for. I knew at that point it was just too much.
But you stayed. At least together. You left for the night and I broke down in tears. Because I knew. I knew at that moment the tide had shifted. You just didn't realize it yet.
Because I love my children more than life itself. And I can't fix them. They are who they are and what they are regardless of my interference. And I am who I am in spite of trying to re-invent myself.
And I heard it in your voice today. Well, not today because I won't be posting this blog just yet. Today being March 5th. Just barely less than a year from when we met. But soon it will be yesterday. I'll wait until you figure it out. Until then I'll wait.
Because I know my heart will shatter again when you do. And you will hesitate to tell me because I know you still care. It's just too much. You will tear yourself up inside trying to figure out the right time to tell me. How to tell me without admitting the real reason why.
So for now I will be still. On edge knowing that the time is coming. Never knowing when the words will come spilling out. Writing this now because I can hold back the tears (barely). I won't be able to then.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Did you beat yourself up today?
"The only hard part is the waiting around and getting yourself back up to wrestle another match."~Mike Campbell
Yesterday I forgot my sons' Parent-Teacher conference. Yeah - that was bad enough. But it was the annual 504 review to extend the assistance he receives. And I didn't remember it until 12:30 in the morning. I was still fighting to get Jacob to go to sleep. I had a thought to e-mail his teacher that he would probably be tired and then the sinking feeling hit the pit of my stomach.
It was a pretty bad Supermom day anyways. Kiara got a D in Science, so I was trying to help her study for her test. When I say study, I mean pulling teeth to convince this child that she didn't know the subject matter as well as she thought. I persevered through attitude and rolled eyes and other pre-teen protests until she flat out fell asleep on the couch. So much for that child.
Child #2 also fell asleep and woke up not only on the wrong side of the bed, she woke up in an altered universe. Hormonal is not even close to describing how Brianna woke up. Poor Jacob. Between the two sisters, he is swimming in Estrogen and attitude!
Went to karate testing. Got my next belt despite the knockouts that happened there. One step away from black belt now. This was the only good thing that happened.
After karate, I send everyone for showers and bed. That's when the real trouble started. They refused to go to sleep. You can make them go to bed, but you can't make them sleep (at least not legally anyways). After fighting with them for 30 minutes - and they had already gone to sleep later than their normal bedtime - I told them that ice cream after their karate testing the next day was out. Jacob fell out. He threw a fit for another 30 minutes. As I've said before, he has an extreme persistance that could drive Mother Theresa to drink.
I finally made him come downstairs so his sisters (note: Science test tomorrow and already sleep-deprived) could get some rest. He had a look on his face that would melt the coldest of hearts. He said simply "I'm sorry Mommy." And those three words spoke more than you can imagine. It was more than he was just sorry for being up still. He was sorry for having this crappy disease that drives me insane. Sorry for putting me and his sisters through this suffering. Sorry for being who he is.
So, now back to the top of this blog. To beat myself up. I'm sitting on my couch, thinking that I should e-mail his teacher. Holding my child as he holds me just as tightly and we console each other. Because neither one of us will ever be what we should be but so much more than we could ever have expected. And we will continue to fight. And beat ourselves up...
Yesterday I forgot my sons' Parent-Teacher conference. Yeah - that was bad enough. But it was the annual 504 review to extend the assistance he receives. And I didn't remember it until 12:30 in the morning. I was still fighting to get Jacob to go to sleep. I had a thought to e-mail his teacher that he would probably be tired and then the sinking feeling hit the pit of my stomach.
It was a pretty bad Supermom day anyways. Kiara got a D in Science, so I was trying to help her study for her test. When I say study, I mean pulling teeth to convince this child that she didn't know the subject matter as well as she thought. I persevered through attitude and rolled eyes and other pre-teen protests until she flat out fell asleep on the couch. So much for that child.
Child #2 also fell asleep and woke up not only on the wrong side of the bed, she woke up in an altered universe. Hormonal is not even close to describing how Brianna woke up. Poor Jacob. Between the two sisters, he is swimming in Estrogen and attitude!
Went to karate testing. Got my next belt despite the knockouts that happened there. One step away from black belt now. This was the only good thing that happened.
After karate, I send everyone for showers and bed. That's when the real trouble started. They refused to go to sleep. You can make them go to bed, but you can't make them sleep (at least not legally anyways). After fighting with them for 30 minutes - and they had already gone to sleep later than their normal bedtime - I told them that ice cream after their karate testing the next day was out. Jacob fell out. He threw a fit for another 30 minutes. As I've said before, he has an extreme persistance that could drive Mother Theresa to drink.
I finally made him come downstairs so his sisters (note: Science test tomorrow and already sleep-deprived) could get some rest. He had a look on his face that would melt the coldest of hearts. He said simply "I'm sorry Mommy." And those three words spoke more than you can imagine. It was more than he was just sorry for being up still. He was sorry for having this crappy disease that drives me insane. Sorry for putting me and his sisters through this suffering. Sorry for being who he is.
So, now back to the top of this blog. To beat myself up. I'm sitting on my couch, thinking that I should e-mail his teacher. Holding my child as he holds me just as tightly and we console each other. Because neither one of us will ever be what we should be but so much more than we could ever have expected. And we will continue to fight. And beat ourselves up...
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
I am a doormat
"There is a
delicate balance of putting yourself last and not being a doormat and thinking
of yourself first and not coming off as selfish, arrogant or bossy. We spend the
majority of our lives attempting to perfect this balance."
— Cindy L. Teachey
Today I have to call a vendor (again) and tell them that their machine is crap and to take it back. I know that's not going to happen because we already paid for the machine. But it's the principal of the matter. We got this machine in, it doesn't do what it's supposed to do consistently and they need to take care of it. Unfortunately I have to prove the machine is broken in order to get someone to make a service call.
And that's where the problem begins. I have to argue our position. I am not a born debater. I'll fight to the death if I think I'm right, but finding the words sometimes becomes a problem. At least until I get so pissed that I can see red. Then I go into full battle mode. Otherwise I shrink back and settle.
I don't know when I became a doormat. Was I born this way or have people beat me down enough in life that took me to this place? The verbal and emotional abuse I endured had to contribute to this condition. But I had to be vulnerable to even start accepting that treatment. And I fall so easily back into that groove. And then I get frustrated at myself for letting it happen.
I'm lucky to be in a relationship now with someone who would never treat me as less than an equal. But he's only one person. The world can be a tough place if you can't stand up for yourself. Especially in a man's world like manufacturing. There are some great people out there, but right behind them is another that would steal candy from a baby.
So, today I am pissed. At the people in my past that have made me more of a doormat than I should be. At the vendor causing me to work through lunch again. Mainly for allowing myself to struggle so much with something that should be cut and dry.
— Cindy L. Teachey
Today I have to call a vendor (again) and tell them that their machine is crap and to take it back. I know that's not going to happen because we already paid for the machine. But it's the principal of the matter. We got this machine in, it doesn't do what it's supposed to do consistently and they need to take care of it. Unfortunately I have to prove the machine is broken in order to get someone to make a service call.
And that's where the problem begins. I have to argue our position. I am not a born debater. I'll fight to the death if I think I'm right, but finding the words sometimes becomes a problem. At least until I get so pissed that I can see red. Then I go into full battle mode. Otherwise I shrink back and settle.
I don't know when I became a doormat. Was I born this way or have people beat me down enough in life that took me to this place? The verbal and emotional abuse I endured had to contribute to this condition. But I had to be vulnerable to even start accepting that treatment. And I fall so easily back into that groove. And then I get frustrated at myself for letting it happen.
I'm lucky to be in a relationship now with someone who would never treat me as less than an equal. But he's only one person. The world can be a tough place if you can't stand up for yourself. Especially in a man's world like manufacturing. There are some great people out there, but right behind them is another that would steal candy from a baby.
So, today I am pissed. At the people in my past that have made me more of a doormat than I should be. At the vendor causing me to work through lunch again. Mainly for allowing myself to struggle so much with something that should be cut and dry.
Friday, August 3, 2012
30 days and counting...oh hell...
This post title is actually 100 60 30 days and counting... but Blogspot won't let me edit font. So much for technology.
"How soon 'not now' becomes never." ~Martin Luther
I started writing a blog post around 70 days or so ago. You see, I did a crazy thing. When I say crazy, I mean insane, loco en la cabeza totally nuts kind of thing. I let some really goodfellow cellmates friends talk me into signing up for a 5K run. No, not just a run - a mud run. A warrior dash. A grueling run at the end of August at the hottest point of the summer through mud and 12 or so obstacles. The same weekend I am moving. And going to a wedding. And picking my kids up in Tennessee. With school starting two days later.
And of course I amreally in shape sort of in shape a couch potato. Fully prepared for a run. No worries about the tires and ropes and of course the wall. The insurmountable obstacle I have since recruited several friends to encourage me help me up push my large bottom over. Did I mention the 5K run in the midst of said obstacles?
I'm all gung ho in May about this race. I have 100 days to get fit. Very doable. I start out of the gates strong. I start my C25K (Couch to 5K for you other couch potatoes) running program. I'm eating better. I save a ton of motivational pictures. I order P90X. I am not only going to be fit but I'm going to be ripped. Melt my muffin top and shred my arms. I'll be climbing rock walls in no time. 10K's by Fall and a half marathon in January. I can see the bumper sticker now: 13.1. Yeah me!
Now comes June. I'm still running once or twice a week. I managed to open P90X and see what's inside. Work and summer break for the kids are keeping me busy. I have two months so even though I'm behind, I can still make it. I won't be at the front of the pack but I should at least finish the race. And then the kids go to Tennessee. Wayne and I are working on the house. And I skip a few days of running. And then some more.
And now it's August. I have exactly 24 days to get my butt in shape. I am really in trouble. I watch the videos on their website again for motivation. These are all young college kids that look like they took a stroll through the park or hardened trained runners that do this kind of thing for fun every day. There are no 41-year-old single mom of three kids in spandex and three layers of sports bras to keep from getting a black eye.
I could give up at this point. But I already paid. And I said I was going. Yet if I don't drop out, you may find me at the bottom of the muddy creek. I should just walk away and let somebody in much better shape run this race. But I'm not a quitter. Just a procrastinator. One that will push ahead even when all logic says there is no way in hell this will happen.
So, on August 27th, you will find me lying in a prone position somewhere. Hopefully in my bed and not still in the creek. Sore and bruised beyond tolerable levels. Wondering what the heck possessed me to prove that somewhere inside this not-quite-so-young body is a runner. And hopefully, with a lot of luck and quite a bit of psychosis, proof that I finished a race I never should have entered in the first place.
"How soon 'not now' becomes never." ~Martin Luther
I started writing a blog post around 70 days or so ago. You see, I did a crazy thing. When I say crazy, I mean insane, loco en la cabeza totally nuts kind of thing. I let some really good
And of course I am
I'm all gung ho in May about this race. I have 100 days to get fit. Very doable. I start out of the gates strong. I start my C25K (Couch to 5K for you other couch potatoes) running program. I'm eating better. I save a ton of motivational pictures. I order P90X. I am not only going to be fit but I'm going to be ripped. Melt my muffin top and shred my arms. I'll be climbing rock walls in no time. 10K's by Fall and a half marathon in January. I can see the bumper sticker now: 13.1. Yeah me!
Now comes June. I'm still running once or twice a week. I managed to open P90X and see what's inside. Work and summer break for the kids are keeping me busy. I have two months so even though I'm behind, I can still make it. I won't be at the front of the pack but I should at least finish the race. And then the kids go to Tennessee. Wayne and I are working on the house. And I skip a few days of running. And then some more.
And now it's August. I have exactly 24 days to get my butt in shape. I am really in trouble. I watch the videos on their website again for motivation. These are all young college kids that look like they took a stroll through the park or hardened trained runners that do this kind of thing for fun every day. There are no 41-year-old single mom of three kids in spandex and three layers of sports bras to keep from getting a black eye.
I could give up at this point. But I already paid. And I said I was going. Yet if I don't drop out, you may find me at the bottom of the muddy creek. I should just walk away and let somebody in much better shape run this race. But I'm not a quitter. Just a procrastinator. One that will push ahead even when all logic says there is no way in hell this will happen.
So, on August 27th, you will find me lying in a prone position somewhere. Hopefully in my bed and not still in the creek. Sore and bruised beyond tolerable levels. Wondering what the heck possessed me to prove that somewhere inside this not-quite-so-young body is a runner. And hopefully, with a lot of luck and quite a bit of psychosis, proof that I finished a race I never should have entered in the first place.
Monday, July 30, 2012
So I'm Not A Perfect Mom...
"There is no way to be a perfect mother, and a million ways to be a good one." ~Jill Churchill
Well, I can add the not-so-perfect mom title to my not-so-secret life. The other day started out a bit more stressful than normal. Due to new working hours, I have to be at work at 6:15 so I get up at 5 a.m. Brianna woke up with a belly ache. She walked around for a few minutes and decided it might be gas and she's ok. Just as she's going to bed, Jacob woke up and said his cheek hurts. Since he was sniffling with a stuffy nose, I play nurse and try to clear this up and gave him a warm compress. He eventually fell back to sleep.
And now the dilemma that all working moms (and some dads) go through: do I call in sick and take care of them or are they well enough to go to school and suffer it out? If I stay home, they'll be fine by 9 and want to play the Wii all day. If not, I take a chance that the school nurse will be calling me. And since I have a new job, I am still in my probationary period. Calling off is not an option - at least not a very good one.
Bundle that with the fact that my dad was having double knee surgery the same day. Therefore, half my family was going to be at the hospital including my sister who watches them in the mornings. I made the decision to send them both to school. And I hated myself for that. Knowing that I should be at home snuggling with them instead of at work killed me. I don't think this part ever gets any easier.
I got a phone call at 2:00 that Brianna still wasn't feeling well and asking me to come get her. As if I weren't feeling guilty enough. She only has 45 minutes left of school. By the time I get with my boss and drive over, she will probably only have 10 minutes left. So I decided to stay at work and ask her if she can tough it out. She does but comes home and crashes on the couch as soon as she sits down. And on the up side, they both felt better the next day, so no more guilt trip.
Unfortunately, this is a reality for so many families nowadays. No more June Cleaver. Mom is not waiting in the kitchen with an after school snack and cooking dinner. No pretty dress and stockings (not to mention the coned bras lol). I'm more likely in a tank and shorts, ripping off the godawful underwire the moment I get a chance. Dinner is either drive thru, pizza or Spaghetti-O's if it's a soccer practice/karate/church/Cub Scout night or some microwaved version of a home-cooked meal. Homework is rushed through if not completed at 9 p.m. because they forgot. If there is consistency, it is more like constant chaos and not a flowing and relaxed "play with Eddie Haskell until the street light comes on" kind of evening.
On the positive side of things, I get off of work at 4:00 now, so I get to pick the kids up a bit earlier and feed them a halfway decent meal before we go anywhere now. I kinda sorta get to be "that mom" to some small degree. Looking around at society and how things could be for me as a single mom, I count myself very blessed.
So, I won't be the mom at all of the PTA meetings or walking into school with every hair in place in the perfect suit. I won't be sending in treats for every event, but I will probably stay up until 3 a.m. making cupcakes for their holiday party. I can't attend every in-school during school hours performance, but I'll be there for the important ones. And with a few extra hugs and kisses, I won't be a perfect mom, but hopefully they'll know I did the best I could to be a good mom.- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Well, I can add the not-so-perfect mom title to my not-so-secret life. The other day started out a bit more stressful than normal. Due to new working hours, I have to be at work at 6:15 so I get up at 5 a.m. Brianna woke up with a belly ache. She walked around for a few minutes and decided it might be gas and she's ok. Just as she's going to bed, Jacob woke up and said his cheek hurts. Since he was sniffling with a stuffy nose, I play nurse and try to clear this up and gave him a warm compress. He eventually fell back to sleep.
And now the dilemma that all working moms (and some dads) go through: do I call in sick and take care of them or are they well enough to go to school and suffer it out? If I stay home, they'll be fine by 9 and want to play the Wii all day. If not, I take a chance that the school nurse will be calling me. And since I have a new job, I am still in my probationary period. Calling off is not an option - at least not a very good one.
Bundle that with the fact that my dad was having double knee surgery the same day. Therefore, half my family was going to be at the hospital including my sister who watches them in the mornings. I made the decision to send them both to school. And I hated myself for that. Knowing that I should be at home snuggling with them instead of at work killed me. I don't think this part ever gets any easier.
I got a phone call at 2:00 that Brianna still wasn't feeling well and asking me to come get her. As if I weren't feeling guilty enough. She only has 45 minutes left of school. By the time I get with my boss and drive over, she will probably only have 10 minutes left. So I decided to stay at work and ask her if she can tough it out. She does but comes home and crashes on the couch as soon as she sits down. And on the up side, they both felt better the next day, so no more guilt trip.
Unfortunately, this is a reality for so many families nowadays. No more June Cleaver. Mom is not waiting in the kitchen with an after school snack and cooking dinner. No pretty dress and stockings (not to mention the coned bras lol). I'm more likely in a tank and shorts, ripping off the godawful underwire the moment I get a chance. Dinner is either drive thru, pizza or Spaghetti-O's if it's a soccer practice/karate/church/Cub Scout night or some microwaved version of a home-cooked meal. Homework is rushed through if not completed at 9 p.m. because they forgot. If there is consistency, it is more like constant chaos and not a flowing and relaxed "play with Eddie Haskell until the street light comes on" kind of evening.
On the positive side of things, I get off of work at 4:00 now, so I get to pick the kids up a bit earlier and feed them a halfway decent meal before we go anywhere now. I kinda sorta get to be "that mom" to some small degree. Looking around at society and how things could be for me as a single mom, I count myself very blessed.
So, I won't be the mom at all of the PTA meetings or walking into school with every hair in place in the perfect suit. I won't be sending in treats for every event, but I will probably stay up until 3 a.m. making cupcakes for their holiday party. I can't attend every in-school during school hours performance, but I'll be there for the important ones. And with a few extra hugs and kisses, I won't be a perfect mom, but hopefully they'll know I did the best I could to be a good mom.- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
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