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

Summer is here, which means more time to ruminate on the deep, philosophical truths of the universe. The questions of the cosmos, the meaning of life, the nature of beauty and art, the wickedness of men, and of course, the confounding second child. This may not be a rule with specifically the second child, but all parents with more than one child have that one child  whose personality and mischievous spirit are larger than life, wilder than the woods, and more persistent than an angry wasp. Of course, these are some of the biggest reasons why I love my second child. She'll be the first woman president, an Olympic gymnast, or a crime boss. Go big or go home. Picture something in your head that goes in your house. Maybe it's something you use so seldom that you almost forgot it was there (or have forgotten it). Maybe it's something dangerous, or destructive, or special, or white.*  That object is the object that should not, for whatever reason, be used by your child. H...

Four years ago, when I got my first dog, Maverick, many friends and family tried to tell me I was an insane person. "You already have three children, you don't need a dog!" "Dogs are so much work!" "Dogs cost so much money! Dog food is expensive!" "Dogs need lots of attention!" "When will you have time to walk him and play with him?" "What will you do when you want to go on vacation?" "You'll have to clean up accidents in the house!" (These people liked to use exclamation points, apparently.) Of course, I thought smugly to myself,  but it will be worth it, because I love dogs and those things are all worth having a constant and loving companion.*  In all of these discourses, one thing was left out. Not one single person mentioned this to me, and since this was my very first dog, it didn't occur to me. At all. In the summer and fall, I diligently and dutifully cleaned up my yard every few days...

I've never been a particularly patient person. Lately, I feel like I'm always waiting for something. What am I waiting for? For answers, for direction, for change, for relief, for help, for understanding? For motivation? For peace, for calm, for assurance? For all of the above? Life seems like an endless game of waiting. Waiting for bedtime. Waiting for the end of the day. Waiting for the weekend. Waiting for this or that to be over. Waiting for this or that to begin. Always and ever moving on to the next thing and the next thing. The present moment wished away because surely the next moment will be better. Tomorrow will be better. The weekend will be better. Summer will be better. Something that's unclear will become clear if only I just keep waiting.  But I think sometimes the moment holds the answers that we continue to put off. The trick is that it's hard to sit still in this moment. It's hard to give up the anticipation of what's coming and immerse onese...

Taking Care of the Leftovers When I was a little girl, any time my brother and I didn’t clean our plates, my dad would eat our leftovers. I always thought my dad was a great giant of a man (even though he’s only average height and weight) and I always marveled at how he could put away SO MUCH FOOD. These days, my dad doesn’t eat as much as he used to, which probably isn’t a terrible thing, but it got me thinking recently about what happens to the leftovers at my house. At my house, when my kids don’t finish what’s on their plate, I try to not waste it and eat as much of it as I can, but inevitably, some of it gets thrown away. The food that went untouched goes in the refrigerator where it inevitably gets left until it is no longer edible (or sometimes recognizable). Unfortunately, even at my hungriest, I don’t have the capacity to use up those leftovers.   Which brings me to the wandering analogy that’s been sticking to the side of my brain. It’s not just the food – it’s the l...

This past week, something has been happening around 1:30 pm every day. Every muscle in my body begins to feel weak, my eyelids get heavy, and it becomes increasingly hard to continue to the end of the day. Today, it happened even earlier - around 10:30 this morning. My heart is so tired lately. Some days, I wonder why I still try to teach. Some days, I wish I had a job where I went to work and someone told me exactly what to do and I could execute the instructions with little to no hindrance. I imagine days where I go to work and I don't have to diffuse situation after situation. I imagine a job where, at the end of the day, I check out and don't think about it again until I check back in the next morning. Where I don't feel like I'm constantly pouring from an empty bucket. It's been a rough few weeks and I have a litany of complaints, of course; reasons and triggers that I won't get into because, after all, complaining never solved any problems. Last Saturd...

Today started like many days in my house. I hit the snooze button too many times, trying to squeeze out as much pretend sleep as possible. When I did wake up, I hurried to get ready before the kids got up, but to no avail. I believe that my children have an internal mommy tracker that immediately rings in their ears when I turn on the bathroom light, no matter how quiet I try to be. I had to shower downstairs today, because the upstairs bathtub needs to be replaced (of course) and has started leaking. I'm not sure how long this has been going on or how long I'll need to shower in the weird, dark, laminated shower stall in my basement, but I am sure that I'm digressing. The point being (I did have a point), that even when I tiptoe downstairs and very softly turn on the light, my kids still instinctively know that I'm no longer hiding  curling under the covers hoping for an unanticipated snow day. In mid-October. Shortly before all of this unfolded, I remembered that y...

I have somewhat of a love/hate relationship with the month of October. Fall is, without a doubt, my favorite season. I love the kaleidoscope of colored leaves; I love the sun lighting up the cool afternoons; I love the gray clouded skies and the chill air; I love wearing scarves, sweaters, and boots; I love cuddling under blankets, in front of fires, next to my babies, watching movies and drinking hot cocoa. I love listening to spooky music; I love going to the Pumpkin Patch and preparing for Halloween. It's the most wonderful time of the year. Five years ago, in  October, I lay on the cold, hard earth with the leaves whistling around me and breathed foolish prayers to God. I prayed because I had just found out that I was pregnant; I had filed for divorce and now I had a little life growing inside of me. I prayed because, like the natural world around me, I was transitioning to a new season of life, and before I had my spring, I'd need to go through the isolating winter. I wa...