Empty Bed, Full Heart- A Single Mother's Journey

This morning, I had a realization. Like most epiphanies of value, it came to me while I was in the shower. My little boy was playing in the living room while I was quickly rinsing off the night's cobwebs, and I heard a 'thump' and his tearful voice cry out. He rushed into the bathroom and pulled back the shower curtain. "Owie, mama!" he hiccuped and pointed at his knee. I noticed it was red, but not bruised and knelt down gently next to him and kissed it. "Ouch, baby." I said. "Are you ok?" He looked up at my face, gave me a sweet smile and darted back out to play. I often think to myself how silly and endearing it is that first aid for a child is so simple. He didn't need a band-aid or an ice pack. Just a kiss and a little bit of empathy and he was as good as new. Back to the blocks, as though nothing had happened at all. So why even interrupt his play for such a minor bump? Normally, I attribute this kind of thing to a mother's ...

How cliched, I know. When I was young, I was not fussy about relationships. I was low maintenance if there ever was such a thing, in part because of my fierce independent (read: stubborn) streak and a complete aversion to frivolity. I was never the girl who got highlights in her hair and spent hours on clothes and makeup each morning. I shopped at thrift stores and went to school with my hair wet 50% of the time. My requirements for "boyfriend" material were that they hold my hand sometimes and be smart enough to talk to for hours on end. I didn't seek out the best looking, I didn't expect gifts or showering, I understood not being top priority and I didn't need someone to  emotionally support me. I was a tough chick who could take care of herself, thank you very much. It should come as no surprise then, that I married a man who allowed me to take care of everything in our lives. My teenage self would have loved that, being responsible for the house, the bills,...