Single Parenting: It Takes a Village (and caffeine)

There is not enough of me to go around.  Any past concept I had of "spread thin" is now laughable. I am a divorced working mom who has sole custody of 3 "boisterous" girls, owns her own home, has animals, and a litigious and antagonistic ex husband. The saving grace is that I have a lot of support in the form of wonderful parents, morale boosting extended family, a awesome best friend who lives 7 houses down, and a really Neat Guy for a boyfriend. I also happen to be damn resilient. Otherwise, I'd be inpatient somewhere.

Seriously.

If you know a single parent who does 90% of the parenting alone, hug them for me. Because it's HARD. Really hard. Rough and exhausting like I had no concept of before. I have an army of support behind me, but no one can replace me on the front lines. That's kind of panic inducing all by itself. Throw in the general kid stuff like doctor and dental appointments and illnesses. Add to that all of the girls go to therapy--we average 2 therapy appointments a week. Meals. Homework. Class projects. School clothes. Overnights. Laundry. Puberty. And being as involved as possible at their schools, PTA, parent night, holiday parties. Our theme song is the William Tell Overture. The middle schooler has recently been asked to join 2 groups and honor choir, which means more schedule juggling and driving but dang, she needs that right now. And they ought to be in sports, or so I'm told frequently by the professionals I've hired to keep us all from falling apart.

And that's just the kids. There's the house: It's a great little house, brand new, and I enjoy it. It's mine. ALL mine. The mortgage, the bills, the things that grow, the things that break, the things that need maintenance, the things that wear out, the things that need cleaning. I edge the lawn with scissors. It's somewhat meditative. Neat Guy has been known to come over and use the correct machine to do the job. Nature Guy (Miss Daisy's husband) looked at me the other day as I was absentmindedly snipping away and said, "Seriously? I can get my weed eater." I mow a great lawn, but apparently weed eating requires depth perception I do not possess. Apartment? No thanks. My kids are, um, boisterous.  And I'm just too much of a worrywart to let them roam in an apartment complex. Here I can see the neighborhood park from my back porch.

Those awesome people in my life need my attention also. And I need theirs. Which is why Miss Daisy drinks so much coffee at my house. And why I spend long hours cocooned from the world with Neat Guy on weekends my girls are gone, . And why my mom and I talk pretty much every day, and see each other several times a week. I help them wherever I can, you know, to reciprocate. It's a pride thing. I can tell you now, in my mind I owe my parents forever.

These are listed in order of importance...next would be that thing called "work". It's a flexible job. Fee for service. There are days I'm panicking because I'm not putting in the hours I had in mind. Never mind the money even. The panic is because a client is freaking out and needs more of my time. Or I have a goal to see someone twice a week and I've only seen them once for 2 weeks in a row. Or I forgot the next day billing is due and my printer decides to go offline and run out of ink. (WHY is it that only happens on a deadline?)

So then there's me, right? Gotta take care of number....4? Well, to keep the things above running is also to care for myself to some extent. If I could get more of anything it would be: rest and massages. That's a crap shoot though, with kids that crawl into bed at night and a puppy alarm clock, and no live-in masseuse. I manage pretty well given the task. Nowhere near perfect, but what the heck would that even look like? Imperfectly it is: prayer, great relationships, dishes in the sink, hugging my kids, laughing, appreciating the eye candy of nature, reminding myself to breathe, strange lawn habits, posted schedules, creating, time managment via iPhone reminders, shared meals, long walks, coffee, and gratitude.

Balto P. Coltrane

Gentle readers, let me introduce you to our new canine addition, Balto. Also known as "Carl" (Neat Guy), "Balto P. Coltrane" (Me), and "Balto Pickle Train" (the 6 year old).  Other name suggestions were "Sparkles" and "S'More". The rescue vet named him after her favorite movie. Men under 45 snicker and ask if I'm going to change his name. I would, if we could agree on anything.
Like his namesake, Balto appears to be part Husky. And perhaps Boxer, with a smidge of Pit Bull Terrier. He likes to chew things. Most recently he ate 2" of fringe tethered by 4 feet of string to a throw pillow. All the fighting and gagging in the world wasn't going to break that string or help him swallow that pillow. Finally Miss Daisy hand over hand pulled the lump of fringe out of the dog. It looked like she fished up a dead wet mouse. My best friend ROCKS.