Letting it be

God, I look to you
I won't be overwhelmed
Give me vision, to see things like You do
Give me wisdom, You know just what to do - Jenn Johnson

"But mommmm-mmmm-mmm-mmmm-yyyyyyyyy..." my four year old whined, complete with the melodrama that usually accompanies her cries for justice.  I knew what was coming next. "It's. Not. Fai-www".

She and her brother were fighting over something meaningless.  As usual. I'm convinced that if there was an actual piece of crap laying around, and there was only one, they'd fight over it.  But I digress.

Usually they fight, one wins, and the winner does a victory dance and teases the other incessantly.  The other cries because it is't fair.  And it usually isn't. Life isn't fair.

Sometimes I feel like they feel.  I spend the day waking sleepy children, making breakfast, packing lunches, running for buses, driving to preschool, working, conference calling, picking up from preschool, working more, cleaning, picking up from the bus, working more, making dinner, forcing homework, making snacks, serving dinner, threatening no dessert if said dinner isn't eaten, cleaning up tables, playing referee  and...and...and.  Just when I'm about to wave my white flag in surrender, their dad's visitation time arrives and he gets to swoop in and save them.  From me.  And you know what comes next?  Mother's guilt, for coming very close to losing my mind. Again.

Keep in mind, I want to be very careful how I word this because I love my kids more than anything in the world.  I love that they love their dad and I don't want to get in the way of that.  I want them to choose their feelings for him based on their experiences, not mine.  And I never want to write anything I don't want them reading later, about him or about our situation. So, I'm trying to craft my words wisely, while also trying to explain how I feel.

When they are with their dad they have little rules or discipline because it's just a few hours per week.  They don't spend nights with him, so they're stuck with me at bedtime too.  When I do discipline them or set rules they don't like, I often hear "I want daddddddddy."  And though I hate to admit it, inside I am suddenly the one screaming: "It's not faiwwwww!"

And it's not.  So what am I going to do about it?  What can I do about it?

Recently, I've been struggling with this more often than I'd like to admit.  All I ever wanted to be was a mom.  All I still want to be is a mom, just not a single mom.  And definitely not responsible for the large majority of the parenting.  Currently, it's not quite happening that way, but as you know, this is not the way I planned it. It's easy to get caught up in anger and resentment.  I guess I have every right to be angry...every right to feel like I've been left with a huge responsibility.  Yet, living in a place of anger won't (and can't) do me any good.  Being resentful won't change the situation.  It will keep me, and eventually my kids, in a prison of unforgiveness and that is the last place I want us to be.

All I can do now is let it be.  Keep on keeping on.  Do the best I can.  Make meals.  Drive short people everywhere. Hug my babies.  Stop focusing on everything I lost and focus on everything I have.  Stop thinking of everything I wanted and dreamed of and planned for, and be thankful for more time with  these healthy, beautiful, patience-wearing, impressionable kids I have here.  I'm lucky that I get to be their mother.  No, life isn't perfect.  And rarely is it fair. For now, though, I choose to let it be.

What are you learning to "let be" in your life?

Motherhood Mondays: New dreams

She's got spunk.

Never be afraid to trust an unknown future to a known God. - Corrie Ten Boom

My daughter loves to hear the "stowy" of when I was pregnant with her.  I love to tell it, because it was one of the best times in my life.  It was also the last few months of my "normal", before the truth of her dad's infidelity began to unravel.

On a summer day in 2007, I went to my doctor for a routine sonogram. I was 19 weeks pregnant and knew they'd be able to tell us the baby's gender.  I walked into the examination room, cautiously optimistic.  I wanted a little girl so badly.  I'd lost my mother as a young girl and really wanted an opportunity to have a mother/daughter relationship I'd seen others enjoy, even if it was from the other side.

When the nurse casually announced "you got your girl",  I was beyond thrilled!  That weekend, I went shopping for all the cute little outfits I could find.  And in four years, the shopping hasn't stopped.  Really.  It's the most ridiculous kind of fun.

On a windy Monday morning in November, she finally arrived.  The first time I laid my tired, puffy, a-human-just-came-out-of-my-body eyes on her perfect little face, the dreams I had for her filled my mind. Fun dreams of bows and ballet, sharing shoes, and shopping for prom dresses.  And then the more intent dreams.  I wanted her to have a "normal" family, a healthy upbringing.

Yet, even before I had given birth, the "normal" had already begun to unravel.  At age 4, the idea of a mommy and daddy living together is foreign to her. A broken home is her "normal". And that's not what I wanted for her. Ever. Who does?

If there's anything I've learned in the past few years, it's that I can't control some events that happen in my life, never mind theirs.  At first, it was easy to get wrapped up in the statistics of children who grow up in broken homes.  I mean, google them (at your own risk).  They're heartbreaking.  Divorce affects kids physically, socially and psychologically.  Single parent households are at risk for a number of different things.

I also become concerned when I look back on the issues I was dealing with when I was young, and how they affected my relationship choices.  I met and married my ex-husband seeking emotional protection and refuge...looking for what my heart needed in a human, and not in God.

However, greater than those statistics and experiences is a God who loves her more than I ever could.  A God who has her best interests at heart and has already given her all she needs to deal with life's joys and hurts.

Even though I've had to let go of some of the dreams I had for her, that's not going to stop me from dreaming new dreams.  Above all the new dreams I have, my greatest dream is this:  when she faces life's storms, I hope she rests in knowing that God is carrying her through them.

And she is watching me.  She's watching to see if I trust, if I rest, if I make it through life's storms.  Dr. Phil (who I love...don't judge!) always says the greatest role model a child has is the same sex parent.  Even if I don't notice it, she's observing every thing I do, learning how to be a woman.  That alone makes me want to do better, try harder, and most importantly, trust God more.

What are the new dreams you have for your children?

I thought I'd share these tips for single moms raising daughters.  They were taken from the same site I used in my post about single moms raising boys.  What are 



1) Don't punish the girl because you see things in her that you hate about yourself. Learn how to deal with YOU first so you can more effectively help her.

2) Being hard on her doesn't automatically equate a virtuous young woman. I'm not implying to let her do anything, heaven forbid, however; I'm implying that you should provide structure and boundaries, but not act as a prison warden.

3) Don't live your life through your daughter. Just because you were a cheerleader, doesn't mean she has to be one. Just because you were in the band, doesn't mean that she has to play an instrument.

4)When it comes to boys, she is looking at you to see how you treat (your husband, boyfriend, etc). She is listening to how you talk about men (good or bad) and this is what she is going to model in her life.

5) You can control what she wears. It's important that you train your daughter to have value in herself, long before someone "whispers in her ear." Don't say, I can't help what she wears or does. This is the door way for a long life of regrets for your daughter.

6) Just because you may have had bad experiences with men and/or relationships, don't raise your daughter to hate men, or be distrusting of everyone that she meets for the rest of her life. She is not you, even though she may have some of your traits and attributes. You can't raise her to be a "second you."

7) Build her self esteem continually with positive words and affirmations. She needs to know that she is complete all by herself and that she doesn't have to go looking for wholeness in another person or thing.

8) Spend time with her outside of school, housework, and the day to day, especially when she get older. She may not say it, but she still needs you. Spend some quality time, go out to eat, to the park, for a walk. You can't get those moments back once they are gone.

9) Raise your daughter in love and NOT fear. When you fear if she is going to get pregnant, meet the wrong guy, make the same bad choices you made, that's often what we attract. Raise her with the love of God and the faith to know that after you have done all that you can do, God will intervene and bring it all back to her remembrance.

10) Teach her how to love herself, love God, and how to remain pure and virtuous in a society where everyone is compromising. Remember, when you teach your daughter...you teach your daughter's daughter.

Winning Wednesdays: When your vacuum sucks (or doesn't)

There are few certainties in life; death, taxes, and your vacuum dying within three years of purchase. I've never met a vacuum I didn't hate.  And so begins this story...

Meet my frenemy, Bissell:

Oh, sure. He looks good.  He describes himself as "easy empty".  He throws out big phrases like "12 amps" and "dual edge cleaning".  Be fooled not.  His strong work ethic is short lived..  That's the way vacuums are. They suck. Well, actually, they don't suck...which is the problem I found myself with recently.  Every time I'd vacuum, I'd look over the path I 'd just completed, only to find more dust than when I began.  It made me crazy (well, if you know me, more crazy). I wanted to yell at him (okay, I did).  Rip up the carpets.  Move into the bathroom. ANYTHING to not have to deal with a broken vacuum.

So the days went on, and I decided I'd have to buy a new one.  Money was a little tight so I was waiting a couple of weeks. Meanwhile, the floors were filling with dust.  It annoyed me every time I looked at it, but I didn't know what to do.  So after a month, they were looking a little (a lot) disheveled.  Last week, I couldn't take it any more.  The superwoman deep, deep, deep inside of me decided to throw caution to the wind and try to repair it myself.

I went and pulled out my snazzy pink tool set.  Be jealous.  

The job called for dissembling the bottom of the vacuum .  Cue oh-so-chic pink screwdriver.  And yes, I really do look that rough at night.  And I'm blind. Feel free to laugh at me.

I noticed there was a bunch of funk in this tube thingy.  I don't know what it's called.  I have no interest in learning what it's called either.  I just noticed it wasn't supposed to be white, so I took a chance.

I got a wire hanger, which is the tool in my house voted Most Likely to be Used.  For everything.  Clogged toilet?  Wire hanger.  Clothes stuck behind the dryer?  Wire hanger.  Random junk stuck in vacuum hose thingy?  Wire hanger!

Using my trusty wire hanger, I slowly began to unpack the clump of crap...and this came out.  Oops.  I don't even know what it is, but I'm willing to bet it doesn't belong in a vacuum.

And then...Ahhhh-HA!  The hateful green crayon strikes again.  Why am I not surprised?  I have it on my walls and permanently melted inside my dryer.  Why would one NOT be in my vacuum hose?  

After a little more digging and a lot more sneezing, this was the pile of filth that I found in there.  Now I know vacuum hoses need to be cleaned.  Ooops.

I must admit, I wanted to flex my muscles when I was done.  Pat myself on the back.  Hug myself.  Tell myself I'm awesome.  Fix every other broken household item.  Instead I just rolled my eyes at myself, because after a month of complaining about it, I'd fixed it in less than 30 minutes. 

Just another job for Super Screwdriver

The next day I vacuumed all of the bedrooms with no issues.  #winning.

The moral of the story?  Just do.

I know as a single woman (and especially a single mom) running a household is no easy feat.  I don't have a handy bone in my body.  I don't even want one. Would it be easier to have a handy man around here?  You bet your butt.  But there's not...and that's okay.  In the past three years I have learned that sometimes just doing is better than just complaining. Or ignoring. Or worrying.  I'm preaching to the choir here because rarely do I just do.  I avoid household fix ups like the plague.  Yet, when I force myself to do whatever it is, I often find it isn't that big of a deal.  If I fix it, awesome.  If I call my tools mean names and never end up being able to fix it, awesome.  At least I tried.

Annnnnd for the surprise ending...my vacuum still sucks. Or doesn't. Which means it does.  But for those thirty minutes, I got clean rooms.

The winning is in the doing, anyway.

Thankful Thursday: A Crown of Splendor


Proverbs 16:31 - Gray hair is a crown of splendor; it is attained by a righteous life.
I just got off the phone with my sweet Aunt Roberta, back home in New York.  When I asked her how she'd been feeling, she responded, "oh, I'm okay...just a little tired."  Aunt Roberta celebrated her 99th birthday yesterday.  I'm only 30 and complain about being tired! She's amazing. 

Growing up, Aunt Roberta was a constant fixture in my life.  She was my great-aunt and quite the character.  She lived on the 5th floor of a cozy co-op building in Bayridge, Brooklyn, just minutes from the Verazzano Bridge  The building itself smelled like lint balls and retirement, but my sister and I loved visiting.  She had shelves filled with the cutest trinkets that Amy and I loved to play with. She had fabulous lime-ish/puke-ish green rugs.   She had a real rotary phone that we always played pretend with.  She always bought us totally rad (umm, it was the 90's) Easter outfits from department stores we'd never usually get a chance to buy clothes from.  She took us out for dinner for every occasion.  She had never married or had children so after my mom (her niece) passed, she set up a college savings account for us. When my sister and I graduated high school, we each had a little something to start us off.

She was (and is) a character! Her signature drink was Dewar's on the rocks and she had a glass every day, later saying that's what kept her young.  She joked around a lot, and had the gift of sarcastic wit.  A devout Catholic, she went to Mass daily and was very active in her parish.  She was very proud of her Irish heritage and told stories of kissing the Blarney stone, which folklore said endowed the kisser with the gift of gab.  When I expressed interest, she graciously told me "I think you already have the gift of gab, dear".  Word. 

In a recent conversation, she mentioned that every night she thinks she's going to pass.  "I always wake up thinking---geez, I'm still here?!"  At 99, you can't blame her for wanting to be in heaven already!

Aunt Roberta is one of the most special people in my life, and I am blessed to have had her this long.  She now lives in a nursing home in Long Island, NY, so I don't get to see her often. However, I carry her in my heart and think about her often.  I call as often as I can and love to hear her voice, even if it's hearing about the "rotten" food and "crazy people" at the nursing home. Can you blame her?

Even though she still gets her hair dyed (she would kill me if she knew I was telling you), underneath it lies a beautiful shade of silver hair, and it is a crown of splendor that I admire.  I am thankful for who she was and is to me in so many ways.  She has lived a godly and righteous life, and I can only hope to live life the way she has.

Changes

The title of this post is less than impressive. And it bothers me.  But my brain is pretty much fried today, so just pretend it's some witty, creative, enticing title.

In the six or seven months since I've been blogging, I've gotten a lot of feedback from my posts. Some have poured their heart out to me. Some have told me they laughed (with me, I hope haha).  Some I've even talked to on the phone, random strangers brought together by a common journey.

Many people have been asking and encouraging me to update it more often.  There were a few things that made this difficult. First of all, like most of us, my life is just all kinds of busy.  My day usually begins around 5:45 am and ends after midnight.  And like most mothers, working or not, I do about 3,402 things in that time period.  Second of all, the topics here are quite heavy.  I can't just decide I'm going to talk about forgiveness and come up with some words that stir you.  Usually, if I post on something like forgiveness, its because the previous day I have FLIPPED out on someone I was having trouble forgiving.  Just being honest...

One of my closest friends, Jenn,  writes a blog that is a great read.  Check it out when you have a chance!  Anyway, she started a little schedule on hers and I'm totally copying off of that idea.  So, here is the schedule I'm going to try to follow from here on out. Obviously, when I flip out on someone and realize I need to blog more about forgiveness (or anger management classes), I will. This is just a short list for now, because I want to ensure I can keep with it.  As usual, if there's anything you'd like to read about, feel free to comment on my Facebook page, letting me know your thoughts!

Here they are (excuse the cheesy alliteration of the titles...but, we all need to be cornballs once in a while):

Motherhood Mondays - Blogs about the ups and down of single parenting.  Sharing the laughs, misfortunes, near-death experiences, meltdowns, smiles and lessons learned.  Even married moms can relate on some level, but no matter how much your husband works, single parenting is a different BEAST altogether...so this should be fun.  You may also think I'm a psycho mom.  Again, fun.

Winning Wednesdays - I'll be sharing some of the ways I'm winning in this journey.  I've only dedicated one day to it because, well, guess.  Every so often, though, the stars align and I find myself winning some battle.  I also look forward to hearing about how you are winning in this game of life.

Thankful Thursdays - I love and am slightly obsessed with the book One Thousand Gifts.  It really is probably the best book I've ever read.  Therefore, I really wanted to dedicate some posts to focusing on all the things I am grateful for because there are many!

Fun Fridays - Something funny.  My life is full of fun and awkwardness and randomness and more fun.  I also have funny friends.  Laugh with me. Laugh at me. Whatever!

Singleness Sundays -  When inspired, I'll try to pay homage to my excellent adventures in singleness.


Stay tuned for more!

Peace out.

A Love Story

Happy belated Valentine's Day!  Hope it was, as my son says about nearly everything, "awesome"!

You've read the title of this blog and efore you get all excited, let me burst your bubble.  I am not about to tell you I met someone.  Not even close.  Not even close to close.  Actually, I'm pretty sure my 6 year old has a better love life than I do.  Oh, many an awkward moment I've had, that's for sure...but no one even slightly acceptable (on a good day) has crossed my path.  When my ex-husband moved out, everyone asked me when I would start dating again.  Date?!  I'd rather scratch my eyes out with a spork, thankyouverymuch.  My feelings aren't that strong anymore, but the opportunity just hasn't presented itself.  I said I wouldn't date until I was 30 (I was 27 at the time).  30 just came.  I now joke that every birthday, I will start saying "well, I didn't want to date until I was 31 anyway...".

However, there is a love story in the works here.  The story began before I was born.  A God who formed me and knew me in my mother's womb. Who carried me through to a healthy birth, all 9 lbs. 12oz. of me (my poor mother).  A God who brought comfort when I lost my mom.  A God who was near in the years that followed, both good and bad times.  A God who protected me in my comings and goings, safety I too often take for granted.  A God who was with me when I lost two babies, practically unknown and unseen to the world, but so very real to me.  A God who smiled with me when my two living babies were born.  A God who was with me during some very dark, confusing and humiliating times, a comforting and constant presence in the midst of chaos.  A God who has provided for me financially, who has protected my children, who has given me all I ever need and even some things I don't.

This is so hard for me to admit, but there are times when the beasts of loneliness and disappointment hurt like you can't imagine (well, you probably can).  It's that familiar weight on the heart that I can physically feel.  Usually I'm too busy to deal, but sometimes I have to allow myself to feel it.  I'm a huge joker, so most people can't even imagine me being all weepy and hot-mess-ugly-cry-ish, complete with dripping snot and what not.  But it happens.  It isn't too often, really.  Most days (yes, even Valentine's day) ridin' solo is just fine with me. I don't even think about it.  But then I pop in some stupid Nicholas Sparks movie.  Or I can't take one more nanosecond of my daughter's attitude, and there's no one to save me (or her).  Or I have to drive my tired self home from the airport after midnight when returning from a business trip.  Or my car makes noises that I'd rather just ignore.

There are certain roles husbands are supposed to play such as protector, provider, leader.  Though it'd be nice to have that in a human, God has been that and more.  A lot of it is too personal to blog about, but I have been through situations that could've been much, much worse! Protector. I have a job that allows me to work and earn a decent living, but also be home to meet my kids when they return from school.  We have a home, a car in the driveway, food in the fridge, toys well...everywhere.  Provider.  The kids have somehow, some way, made it to their 4th and 6th birthdays.  They're healthy, they're happy and they drive me nuts.  There are times when I feel like I'm 'bout to LOSE MY MIND up in here, but they are also my greatest joy (omg, I'm a sap).  He's constantly giving me what I need to raise them and I have to lean on Him, because in reality, I don't know what the heck I'm doing!  Leader.

Just before Christmas, the women's ministry at my church felt led to give all the single moms a financial gift, along with praying for us.  Like me, I'm sure many single moms feel forgotten, especially around the holidays.  While they prayed over us, I just kept hearing the phrase "love story" in my head. This was such a beautiful love story.  (Well, I also ran out of deodorant that afternoon, and while they prayed, I was also thinking how the bright lights were making my pits sweat...but I digress.)  A lover remembers you, thinks of you, places value on you.  Even in seemingly insignificant times. Again God showed that His lasting love is tenderly caring for me.

It's a love story that life can imitate, but never reproduce.  Sure, it'd be nice to meet someone (under 50 and not socially awkward) one day.  There's a beauty in human relationships I can appreciate and marriage is His design. Yet I also know that this love story is as good as it gets.  His love runs deeper than any human's ever can and I can rest in it, because it is as sure as He is.

Seven times seventy

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