
This week I was privileged to be a part of a panel of Mom's who were interviewed for the series 'What Mom's Really Think...' at Discovering Dad. It was a week long series that touched on marriage, physical appearance, sex, pet peeves, and what Mom's think a good Dad is.
The other Mom's on the panel were Kimmylyn, Huckdoll, Mr. Lady, and Lori aka Mrs. Discovering Dad. Each of us Mom's are unique, we come from different backgrounds, and have had different life experiences. These women are smart, witty, and really did an outstanding job.
I was the only single Mom in the mix though, and quickly realized that my perspectives might not be relatable to everyone else. I was really happy to be involved, and I tried to be as honest and forthright as possible. However, I teetered on the brink of mild meltdowns on and off throughout the week because I felt really vulnerable, and exposed at times. I know that it was hard for me because there is still a part of me that feels ashamed of being a single Mom.
When I read the answers of the other Mom's, compared to mine, I felt like I stuck out like a sore thumb. Fortunately, I had a few friends this week who helped me gain some clarity on what it is that I actually do, and how much I have to be proud of.
As a single Mom, EVERYTHING is my responsibility. I'm responsible for it all, and don't have the luxury of anticipating, or expecting, help from anyone. I wake up in the morning to the starting gun, and it's nonstop. I have to get two boys together, along with myself, and get out the door on time. I have to drive all over town before I can even start my own long commute to work. I work hard all day, hoping that I don't get a call from school that one boy is sick, because if one is, then I have to leave work... I don't have a choice. It's my job that's on the line if my boys require their Mother during business hours. When I get home, I still don't get to rest. I have to cook, clean, do laundry, do homework, and try to squeeze nurturing in somehow. There is no soft place for me to fall at the end of the day. There is no other adult to bounce ideas off of, or to help me sort things out. I have to handle doctor appointments, and illnesses alone. I have to handle school issues and daycare issues, alone. I have to take care of bills, alone. These things are hard, and often stressful, but I have to do it, alone, day after day. I rarely get breaks, or time to myself.
Everything is a fine balance, and I don't always do a good job at it. My house is rarely ever really clean. Laundry rotates in and out of the chair in the living room. I'm late to pay bills sometimes. I forget to change the oil in my truck. I forget to buy milk. I forget to remember almost everything that's happening at my sons schools. I don't get to be in PTA, or be a homeroom Mom. I don't do fundraisers. I don't do play dates, I let noisy little boys fill my house so I can get a break from being entertaining.
I've learned that there is no point in complaining. Complaining doesn't change anything, it only makes things worse. I've learned that the only way I am going to be happy is to focus on the good things more than the hard things. I have to choose to see the bright side of everything in order to remain optimistic. I have to choose to be grateful in order to not be hardened by the hardships. I have to be fiercely independent, yet still keep space in my life for a man.
This Mothers Day won't bring me any gifts, or cards, or brunch at my favorite restaurant. My boys will still need me to take care of them, and might not remember to hug me or say 'thank you' for anything. In fact, they will most likely ask to be with their Dad at least five times that day... like every other day.
I'm trying hard to raise responsible men. I pray I will do a good job, and that they won't resent me for my numerous short comings. I hope that my best is good enough. I hope they will know that they are my world, and that my life didn't start and had no meaning before I became their Mother. I hope that they will see that everything I did was for them.
Of course they won't appreciate me until they become Dad's themselves. First, I'll have to deal with hard headed preteens, and rebellious teenagers, and try to maintain some sort of sanity.
If the flock of white hairs rapidly accumulating on my head is any indication, then I will be the white haired, forty-year-old Mom chaperoning the prom. And that's okay. I'll see my strikingly gorgeous sons in their tuxedos, and hopefully my white hair will be a crown of distinction, for a job well done.