Lucky no. 7

Seven is a lucky number.

When I think of the number seven, it's so simple. Childhood is simple. 

Yet the past seven years of raising the kid could not have been more complicated. When I used to hear parents vent about how fast their children have grown I kinda eye rolled. It couldn't possibly fly by especially since it's so hard, yet here we are seven years later. 

He's seven years old. 

Shit.

What the hell happened? 

Why did his happen? 

There's nothing like a growing child to remind you how quickly time can pass.

I get sad. 

I tear up.

The sort of happy cry knowing that I did it. 

I can do this shit with my eyes closed. The simultaneous cry knowing things have changed but in reality stayed the same.

Its human nature to put a timeline on life. As children our parents did it to us and they called it "a milestone", as we grew older we did it to ourselves, from preteen to teenage, 18 to party 21 to drink and then 25 rolls around and you're still safe but once 30 does you start to question where the hell all the years went and what did you spend them doing.

I almost immediately gave myself a timeline. 

To say I'd meet someone,  hit it off, date, travel, cohabitate, possibly marry - or not- have another child is just plain dumb. 

Life doesn't work that way.

I guess the entire part of my life changing is correct. It drastically changed. I woke up one day and had a seven year old, at least that's how it feels. 

The part of the inevitable change is still happening. 

I thought maybe the solo parenting mission part would be different.

All hope was lost with co parenting w the biological but that's an entirely different journey. 

Now the happy cry is back.

I look at the kid.

He is amazing.

He is thoughtful.

He is kind.

He likes to share his bagel with me. 

He values friendship and family. 

He has passions.

He has an imagination.

The way he high fives his teacher at school pick up when he sees me waiting makes my tears happy ones. 

And then I ask myself why the fuck are you crying? 

You have a good life.

What did I do to deserve such a good life? 

Lucky number 7 is a great sign of not wanting things to change for the sake of adapting but the adaptation of the life I have and making it the absolute best. 

The unanswerable

The kid: mommy which ring did you get married with (fathers name)? 

Me: none

The kid: yes you did because how come (fathers name) is my daddy

Me:😳

A few seconds of silence as the robot mommy me comes back to reality from bedtime routine mode...followed by a quick brush off since it was time to brush his teeth. 

Response in my head: whatttttt the fuck! why are you asking me so many difficult questions I don't have the answers to!!! You're 6 yrs old!!!! Cmon!!! 

And then I paused and stared at myself in the mirror for a few seconds and thought "crap" we were never married. We were together for four years though. Four long years of my life that I will never get back should count for something. 

And the consolation prize is....

(How) do I explain that to the kid. 

Yes technically being married would've been nice and having a story would've been nice and having a magical supposed fairy tale would've been nice too but the truth is we were not married. 

It's ok. 

We were not married.

We were committed. 

We did live together.

Does that make our relationship any less 

Of a relationship? 

I don't think so but, what does a 6 yr old think?

to be or not to be

Does choosing happiness in life necessarily mean that you chose to be happy?

Is "Human flourishing"  a more accurate way to describe happiness?
(do not consult the dictionary)

I think I have made a conscious choice to be happy all the while finding happiness in the choices I've made to be happy.
I rarely ever self pity but I usually am suspicious of others pitying me.

the single girl.
the single mom.

There isn't a anything single about me.
I do double of what any non single parent does, then how come I'm deemed a single parent, I'm actually a double parent, even quadruple parent at times.

Truth is, I pity the crowd, the majority.
The ones who took the road of the expected.
The ones who took the road traveled by, worn paths and directions included.
The ones who chose to be "happy".

With their perfect married lives and their perfect two car garages, walking their perfectly behaved dog while their perfectly aged children run around the outdoor suburbs of their perfectly mowed lawn while the soundtrack to their perfectly timed lives is almost too perfect for the latest Jcrew Christmas catalog.

Are they really happy?
Does the sound of nothing keep them overjoyed with contentment by the positive, pleasant emotions they are overcome with?
Or is the picture perfect catalog shoot simply a photoshoot?
When all the photogs are gone, the costumes removed, the makeup washed off and the lights go out, when door is shut, is the same happiness alive?

Does looking at your spouse make your heart skip a beat?
Are you truly, madly, deeply in love with the person you vowed to spend the rest of your life with?
Or  has it merely become a comfortable routine?

The American dream.
The one in which boy meets girl, boy dates girl, boy proposes to girl, girl becomes wife, wife becomes mother and they live happily ever after.

The perfect groundhog day dream that you are forced to live in day after day after day after day.

Yup, I pity them.
I am just not the "happy" housewife type of woman.

I'm more of the looking for a really deep connection kind of bitch.
The one where we may or may not live in a big house, our apartment may be the size of a garage, my child may or may not be biologically yours but hey a badass blended family we have become...and we eat out ALOT...and we do non traditional things like dress up as a trio for Halloween and dance to Madonna and LFMAO naturally.

I don't want it all.
Not the traditional American dream, I want even more.....I want my twisted version of it.
The one where I am really happy.
I chose my happiness.
In all of its frowned upon glory, judgment passing, sympathetic smile invoking, I choose it.
Pity me and my single mom ass.

Dating 101: Part 1

Don't. 

To be continued.....

Oh It's just emotions taking me over.....

Caught up in sorrow, lost in the song?

But...

I don't want anyone to come back.

Don't need anyone to come home to me.

Don't need a darling.

There IS someone left in this world to hold me tight. 

Emotions are there though. 

High emotions. 

A weekend full of emotions started on Friday. I'd love to blame Paddington but it was a cute movie that the kid and I enjoyed.

Truth is these emotions have been there, surpressed, bottled up, almost disguised themselves as nonexistent.

I sat and watched as the family of four welcomed the orphaned bear.

It started with the mum. Someone kind and gentle, caring enough to lend help to a stranger. Her children were open and willing, a trait they seemed to inherit from her. The father on the other hand, stubborn and angry. 

The disconnect is what once brought the couple together to form the dynamic seemed forgotten. 

Paddington went on to be the amazing little teddy that helped them all realize what the love was made of that once fueled the family. He brought out the best that was always there but masked by life and the individual.

Then my thoughts got ahead of me.

And the tears slowly rolled down my cheeks.

I kept them pretty quiet.

My mind couldn't help remember that I had chosen this life.

Approximately 6 years ago I did just that.

I decided to become a single mom.

Everyone has choices and I have previously said that mine was a given. I would have a baby. 

I couldn't help but think that I hadn't quite thought it all through.

6 single years.

6 picky bitch years.

6 learning years.

6 amazing little boy years.

But it's just the two of us. 

I yearn for a significant other and at the same time I don't.

The kid wishes he had a little sister but he doesn't.

Then there's the big elephant in the room of not having a father figure. 

I'm afraid.

I don't like to be vulnerable.

I don't like to admit I need want someone.

I don't like to let myself believe the fact that it's nice to have someone care about me for a change. 

So I hide. 

And I surpress.

And then when a brilliant kid movie like paddington comes out, the unsuspecting mom in me that's got it all figured out suddenly turns into a softie.

And then my friends, the tears came.

Panic mode was interrupted when the kid turned to me and asked why were there tears on my face.

The softie swallowed hard and replied, no reason.

The kid insisted on wiping my tears and then we sat in silence and watched the rest of the movie. 

Oh but friends to my dismay the flood gates were fully open. 

My emotional weekend had just begun.

The kid has begun to say things I can't handle in the most adorable almost 6 year old way. With a flourishing vocab and curious questions, I stare. I honestly can't get enough of him. 

I then tell myself

It's just emotion taking me over...caught up in....? 

NO

Not caught up in any fucking emotion.

Just dreams and thoughts of what ifs and what could've beens and what isn't. 

Now I'm really in my head. 

And I can't stop thinking of the stupid family dynamic and the stupid father figure we are lacking but may I remind you that I don't want need...the stupid second child that I may have had if I had the stupid father figure/stupid husband that I may have enjoyed but let me remind you of the fact that I don't want need any more kids.

New Year, SAME HOPE!

As I embark upon my fifth year on this solo mission called parenting, I reflect.

I think about my pregnancy and it being one of the happiest times in my  life. The tiny person growing inside of me and the miracle I was put in charge of. The simplest things like the best sleep I’ve had in my life and the movement of my curved belly after a generous meal. At the hospital, I panicked.  The pain was overwhelming and realistically unpredictable but the joy shortly after gave me full satisfaction. Returning home to my tiny unprepared apartment made me emotional. Nothing was ready. The new apartment I had moved into at almost 7months pregnant 3 months prior was still not completely unpacked. The first night alone with the tiny human became the first feeding to the first bath, the first tooth, the first walk and the list goes on, and I became better at being a mom.

I even created an alter ego of the person I’d become while in mommy mode multitasking my way through life. Her name is Obstacle Anne. She is a fierce superwoman. From carrying a dozen grocery bags along w a stroller with a sleeping baby strapped in, to shoveling out a Honda buried in snow with a toddler safely warm inside. I’ve owned this character. I became her.

I look back at the struggles and triumphs with laughter and fight back a few tears.

The birthday parties I’ve managed to pull off seem effortless now. Countless last minute details forced me to forget something each year. Our dynamic duo costumes at Halloween have proven to be exceptional. We debuted in Dorothy and the Cowardly Lion complete with our own little black morkie. Jessie and Woody one year, Princess Leia and Darth Vader the next, one crowd favorite was his choice of the Stay Puft Marshmallow man (myself) and he was my little Ghostbuster. This past year our costumes couldn’t have been a better fit. My little superhero has no idea how he has saved me. He chose to be Wolverine, claws and facial hair, plaid and leather, and I did not feel like I had a costume on. A silvery white wig, white contacts and a black cape, of course people got it, but I feel like the person I was dressed as meant so much more to me than any person could tell. We are a team, and as Storm and Wolverine it made me realize how much I depend on the little guy.

 On this journey we have had the pleasure of meeting several amazing people who have impacted our lives.  An art instructor who fell in love with Aurum and his sweet and kind personality; a summer camp teacher with whom we’ve forged  a bond with long after the summer came to an end; and a grandmothers special connection with the little guy that adores her. The people who have crossed out paths lead me to believe that I am doing something terribly right on my solo mission.

Pride overcomes me.

Thus another year has crept up on us, but the same hope remains.

I have conquered much in these past 4 years and as he grows taller, we both grow stronger.

They say it takes a village to raise a child, maybe in our case the village means the many people who have touched us in passing, held a door open, flashed a friendly smile or simply took the time to enjoy a special moment with us, but at the end of the day it will always be JustMommyNme.

family dynamic

I always thought it would be my own thoughts, views, beliefs and opinions that would be the source of my sons teaching.
Speaking with other parents and understanding different views on family dynamic did not change my opinion that opposed the idea that school aged children are subjected to uncontrollable views.
Pre Kindergarten is such a ripe age for education.
Physical activity is huge while teaching lessons also extremely valuable.
When we started receiving homework assignments, I was very excited.
It gave me a look inside what the actual learning was and the lessons that were being taught in class. I was eager to aid in his learning.
The first assignment was coloring and tracing shapes and the letter S.
The second was about family.
I hesitated.
The remembered a good friend of mine going through a similar exercise in a doctors office.
Her son was asked by the doctor to draw his family.
He drew his mom, he drew his brother, and he drew himself.
The doctor asked about his father and then the conversation started to flow.
Imagine my fear.
A fear I have yet to confront.
An explanation I have yet to give my little monster, who is growing at the speed of a very well planted seed.
An absent father who has yet to appear.
As we completed the homework assignment, I read the instructions aloud, prepared to explain the plethora of blended families there are, but I didn't have to.
 
"Draw your family in the house, do you know who is part of your family?''
 Yes Mommy.
 "mommy, me, Jakey (cousin), grandma, Chris(step grandpa) and auntie''

I breathed a sigh if relief.

He seemed happy.
He drew smiles on everyone.
He drew hair. 
And he wrote the names of each person as I told him.

Never mentioning, questioning, or simply including his father.
Should I have?

Part of me thought I should say, what about Papi?
If that door of memory is slowly closing, why should I stick my foot in and hold it open.

The other part of me quietly shouted, YES!!!!!

Selfish? maybe.
But hoping that I may not have to deal with this much longer and he's forgetting his father on his own by his fathers own doing.
Yet another ounce of me thinks I should have a conversation with him and honestly tell him I don't know what happened to his father.

Fear wins.

His family dynamic consists of so much love that he had to draw people outside of the house and that is explanation enough for me.