8 Things I Wish I Could Tell You About Being a Single Mom

Well, here it is, November, and I haven't written a word since April. Not that it hasn't occurred to me. I was busy working and somewhat enjoying my "summer break" and then school started again and BAM, ice and snow everywhere. Luckily for the 12 people who read this blog, today I drank an extra large cup of caramel macchiato from the local gas station at four o clock in the afternoon, so I am ready to write.

Besides the copious amount of caffeine I've consumed, the major inspiration for this post is actually something that has been rattling around in my head for sometime now. Maybe it's because I spend a lot of time sitting around feeling sorry for myself (hahahahaha! Time. See, it's a joke because I actually have no time ever. See: opening sentence) but mostly it's because it's pretty personal and I have a hard time bringing it up without feeling like a total Debbie Downer pity-party, complete with cheese and whine (not the good wine that I like to drink never, but the kind my daughter pulls out when she wanted THREE marshmallows with her hot cocoa instead of two.)

So, I'm going to go ahead and start off by apologizing to the poor suckers who are going to read this and immediately back away from the computer screen in utter disgust. (It's ok. I won't take it personally. You can still wave at me at the grocery store. We'll pretend it's no big deal.)

Here they are. The things I wish I could tell people about being a single mom.

1) I know what "time" is. I really am not a disrespectful gen-y-er (is that the term? or is it millennial now?) who doesn't value other people's time. Contrary to what you are probably thinking, I am, in fact, trying to get to where I need to be *early*. I used to be punctual. Being late actually makes me feel like a horrible human being. Unfortunately for both of us, here are some common reasons why I'm (most likely) late:

- My three year old took all of her clothes off just before we needed to leave

- "Where is [sic] me Pink Pie pony?"

- My infant hid his socks and shoes in the pantry

- Someone pooped or has to poop RIGHT NOW

- "I'M NOT DONE WITH MY GAME, MOMMY"

- "Those are the wrong black leggings. I want the ones with the feet."

- Someone took off his diaper. And peed on the floor. I won't name names.

- "I want to tie my own shoes/get in the seat/walk down the stairs/put on my clothes, etc BY MYSELF."

- "She is looooooking at me mean!"

- Mommyaccidentallysleptinwehavetoleaverightnoworsheisgoingtogetfired!

- Oatmeal. Oatmeal everywhere. Or water. Sometimes play-doh. If it is messy and/or sticky, just assume it makes the cut.

- "YOU ARE THE MEANEST MOM IN THE WHOLE WORLD!"

To my administrator, fellow teachers, staff, colleagues, and buddy who I was supposed to meet for coffee, I am so, so sorry. Trust me when I say, early to that meeting not only would make you happier, but it be wonderful for me because it would be 10 minutes less of ^ that craziness right there.

2) I really want to hang out with you. Oh my God. Friends, this is especially for you. I want to go out for drinks with you. I want to go to a movie. I want to turn off my brain. I want to go to your Tupperware party and eat free food and buy cool kitchen stuff. What I wouldn't give to make it to that after-work weekend social. Lunch at the table with the other teachers sounds AMAZING. Your kids playing with my kids while we talk about things other than My Little Pony....I want to cry just thinking about it.

But, every spare second of my time, with the exception of right now (hey, want to hang out? It's 2 am and I have Oreos!) are gobbled up with taking care of the kids, taking care of the house, writing lesson plans, doing my other work, tackling laundry, buying birthday presents and watching my paycheck disappear like a space craft through a black hole.

And the sad truth is, if I do have time, I'm too freaking tired to do it. You know what I want to do? Play Words With Friends with people I hardly ever see and scroll through Facebook like a zombie so I don't have to use brain muscles. I don't even want to talk to you on the phone because I've been talking and/or singing ALL FREAKING DAY AND I JUST WANT TO STOP, OK?
Then there is the awful mom guilt over leaving my kids, who get precious little of my time because of how little of it I have. The guilt over asking my parents over and over and over to watch my children so I can just take an hour or seven to catch up on laundry or go to that meeting. The guilt over how much I yelled at them during dinner (my kids, but sometimes my parents, too and occasionally the dog). The guilt over not having enough of myself to go around. 

I don't hate you. I really want to see and talk to you. I feel awful that I don't. Which leads me to:

3) I feel guilty ALL the time. About everything. This is who I want to be:

- loving and attentive mother

- passionate and effective teacher

- fun and reliable friend

- ambitious and competent role model

- caring individual

- volunteer

- dedicated Christian

- Princess Celestia (maybe My Little Pony will pay me money for mentioning them so much. Or they'll sue me. Whatever.)

Ok, yes, I realize I have stupidly high standards. So here's where I fall in my attempt to reach for the stars:

- tired, crabby mother

- exhausted and frustrated teacher

- friends?

- unreliable, over stretched piece of mediocrity

- if you see me, I might be nice to you

- volun....no.
- at least we go to church?

- Spike? Definitely not a Rainbow Dash or even Fluttershy. Spike it is. 

The moral is, I feel guilty that I'm not doing those things to the best of my ability. In fact, most of the time

4) I feel like I'm a complete failure

This is getting depressing. Time for a joke. Q: Why did Bach have so many children? A: Because his organ had no stops!

See? I even fail at telling jokes. No, I don't. That joke is funny. I'm not a failure at that. Moving on.

5) I am the most boring person you'll talk to all day

Maybe all month. I'm surprised you've even made it this far. I have two topics of conversation: My kids/dog (those are the same thing) and my students/work. I've had colleagues drift off when I start talking about school and the only ones who are as entertained by my kids as I am are my parents, who, let's face it, thought I was pretty great growing up, too. I mistrust their judgment.

6) I am emotionally and physically unavailable.

I'm sorry. I have trust issues. I do. Plus, I have no time. Plus, I have three kids. Plus, I don't want to screw up the world I have carefully constructed around myself over the past few years by inviting someone in to potentially throw me right back down into the pit of despair. I have the self confidence of a termite most days (that could be wrong. It could be that termites are incredibly confident, in which case, my apologies to you, termites.) As far as any kind of relationship goes, including friends, family, co-workers, and pretty much anything besides my children, it's not going to get very deep.

And I hate to admit this but

7) My outside looks tough, but I am incredibly sensitive

All of this emotional turmoil makes me easy to frighten, easy to reject, and easy to hurt. If you come at me aggressively about something, I will probably go into full on hermit mode. Gentle communication is necessary to get me to trust you, and I still probably won't believe you aren't out to get me for a VERY LONG TIME.

8) It's not you, it's me.

Truly. You are a normal person and you may think that everything is hunky dory and then out of nowhere I seem to disappear again. Out of nowhere I seem to flake out. Out of nowhere I become a social recluse. Out of nowhere I get weird (-er than usual). Guess what? You said nothing wrong. You did nothing wrong. Maybe a word or phrase or action in some small way reminded me of some red flags that I ignored last time that made my life a living h-e double hockey sticks. Maybe I had a crappy day. Maybe the musty smell of my washing machine just drove me over the edge. Most likely, you'll never know. I'll just run away and come back like nothing happened tomorrow. But hey, it's ok. 
Those Oreos downstairs have my name on them.