My Christmas Wish List was not all silver bells and holly this year. I wasn’t asking my government Santa for anything out of the ordinary—just a quick holiday cuddle and a couple of empanadas to fill my belly would have sufficed. But like the dead horse I beat every year, all I ended up with was a jobless elf, wilting mistletoe and my empty box wrapped with a shiny golden bow.
It’s never A Wonderful Life, during the holidays. It’s usually me, the sugar plum fairy, begging Dirge, the Scrooge to fork over the measly child support installment he is hoarding so he can buy the overabundance of crotchless undies for the red-headed daddy stealer. It’s me, the poverty laden single mom, wrapping disillusionment in shiny cellophane and golden bows, stuffing the stockings with the numerous amounts of guilt that have piled up during the year, and of course, a ton of empty promises in empty boxes all nicely organized under the Charlie Brown tree that was left on my doorstep.
It would be nice if just one holiday wasn’t a nail biting extravaganza and over indulgence of begging. But no Christmas story is complete without the proverbial miracle, right? Well, my miracle comes in the form of last minute fed ex boxes showing up on my porch in the middle of the night with Dirge’s handprints smudged all over them. Confession # 25: Like clockwork, every year, I wait in angst with my rusty exacto knife, my steamer and my vengeance ready to rip off the gift tags that say, “from your loving dad” to replace it with “from your loving Government Santa.” Seriously, why should the part-time dad and skater boy get all the damn credit, when all I am left with is the crumbled wrapping paper and his poop-eating grins?
I have yet to learn the secret of sharing our Wonderful Life with my kids. I have yet to learn a sensitive way of telling them that their “loving dad & part-time hero” is really sky-diving and purchasing botox treatments for the meal ticket pilferer with their money. I keep the secret. I protect the kids. I stuff the stockings. I bite my nails and I cook up the tastiest government turkey this side of skid row--all while wearing my sugar plum fairy tutu for effect.
Real Single Moms Rock On!
Monday, December 21, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Independence Day
In the history of the United States, Independence Day is a declaration of freedom. It's the day of deliverance--and I don't mean the redneck version! For real single moms, Independence Day is the day their dead-beat baby daddies go to jail for the thousands of dollars of child support accrueing for non-payment!
That is not coming from a bitter women who sits idly by contemplating the aftermath that will occur once the deadbeat gets bailed out! It comes from numerous women who have undoubtedly made the conscious choice to finaly be free. The big question for the century for this real single mom is: who eventually pays the price for the decision?
On the one hand, making the decision to put the dead beat in jail is certainly just even though he feels that the unjust laws of having kids and then bailing on them shouldn't have to effect him or his lifestyle. On the other hand, the aftermath of dealing with the kids he helped bring into this world who innocently and unknowingly think he is super cool because he chooses to surf in the tasty waves in California instead of flipping burgers to enable his kids to be a success in life is not just. How does a real single mom handle the reprecussions of her kids mistrusting her for putting their really cool California surfing dad in the slammer?
Those moms who did finally make the decision to do what is best for their kids instead of sitting around bitching about it, or praying each day that their lights wouldn't be turned off because they didn't have enough money in their bank accounts to make it all work and who somewhere along the highway to skid row did ultimately make it to the land of milk and oreos. Yes, those decision-making single moms eventually had to answer to the kids who secretly thought she was the scariest person on the face of the earth, and yes, the kids eventually got over it, and even what is more profound than all of that was the fact that the non-paying, super cool california surfing dad stepped up to the hamburger grill and did the right thing for his kids.
That is a single mom's very own celebration of Independence Day, without the fireworks.
Real Single Moms Rock On!
That is not coming from a bitter women who sits idly by contemplating the aftermath that will occur once the deadbeat gets bailed out! It comes from numerous women who have undoubtedly made the conscious choice to finaly be free. The big question for the century for this real single mom is: who eventually pays the price for the decision?
On the one hand, making the decision to put the dead beat in jail is certainly just even though he feels that the unjust laws of having kids and then bailing on them shouldn't have to effect him or his lifestyle. On the other hand, the aftermath of dealing with the kids he helped bring into this world who innocently and unknowingly think he is super cool because he chooses to surf in the tasty waves in California instead of flipping burgers to enable his kids to be a success in life is not just. How does a real single mom handle the reprecussions of her kids mistrusting her for putting their really cool California surfing dad in the slammer?
Those moms who did finally make the decision to do what is best for their kids instead of sitting around bitching about it, or praying each day that their lights wouldn't be turned off because they didn't have enough money in their bank accounts to make it all work and who somewhere along the highway to skid row did ultimately make it to the land of milk and oreos. Yes, those decision-making single moms eventually had to answer to the kids who secretly thought she was the scariest person on the face of the earth, and yes, the kids eventually got over it, and even what is more profound than all of that was the fact that the non-paying, super cool california surfing dad stepped up to the hamburger grill and did the right thing for his kids.
That is a single mom's very own celebration of Independence Day, without the fireworks.
Real Single Moms Rock On!
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Top Reasons Being a Real Single Moms is Powerful
For so long, there has been a negative connotation attached to "Single Parenting"- I am here to tell you that being a Real Single Mom in this century has only one connotation and that is : Power.
Whether you are a single mom by choice, chance or circumstance, it is with complete courage and fortitude and a lot of xanax that I can tell you firsthand why being a single mom has its advantages.
Here is a Top 10 List(my opinion)
10)You get to celebrate Mother's Day and Father's Day (Double the home-made gifts from your kids)
9)You can make pancakes for dinner
8)You meet a lot of other great single moms who are on the same quest
7)You become the poster mom for multi-tasking, juggling and making your dollars stretch
6)Every day is Independence day
5)You have an excuse for not dating lame ass losers
4)You are very popular at the child support enforcement office
3)You can make fun of not-so-real single moms like Denise Richards and Kimora Simmons (are they kidding?)
2)You get the tax credit
1)You are officially known as "Head of Household"
So as you can see, being a Real Single Mom in our century has its perks. It is definitely not negative and certainly nothing to be ashamed of. So when someone looks down at you or tries to say that you have a "broken household" and therefore your kids will grow up being thieves and prostitutes, you just smile and say, "We're having pancakes for dinner tonight, would you like to join us?"
Real Single Moms Rock On!
Whether you are a single mom by choice, chance or circumstance, it is with complete courage and fortitude and a lot of xanax that I can tell you firsthand why being a single mom has its advantages.
Here is a Top 10 List(my opinion)
10)You get to celebrate Mother's Day and Father's Day (Double the home-made gifts from your kids)
9)You can make pancakes for dinner
8)You meet a lot of other great single moms who are on the same quest
7)You become the poster mom for multi-tasking, juggling and making your dollars stretch
6)Every day is Independence day
5)You have an excuse for not dating lame ass losers
4)You are very popular at the child support enforcement office
3)You can make fun of not-so-real single moms like Denise Richards and Kimora Simmons (are they kidding?)
2)You get the tax credit
1)You are officially known as "Head of Household"
So as you can see, being a Real Single Mom in our century has its perks. It is definitely not negative and certainly nothing to be ashamed of. So when someone looks down at you or tries to say that you have a "broken household" and therefore your kids will grow up being thieves and prostitutes, you just smile and say, "We're having pancakes for dinner tonight, would you like to join us?"
Real Single Moms Rock On!
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Denise Richards Must be Joking or she needs Money!
Look, I am not faulting the girl for trying to get back on her feet! God knows I would try anything myself to get back in the game, and believe me, I have done many things surreptitiously, but seriously, "It's Complicated"? How complicated can it be for Denise Richards?
Granted, she is not the best actress in the world-- her claims to fame, so to speak, are her girl on girl action with Neve Campbell in Wild Things and her nasty divorce from Charlie Sheen. Ok, so now she wants back in the game! She wants to redeem herself, I guess. Ok, I will give her that. But saying her life is complicated really is an oxymoron, if you ask me.
As a (real)single mom, I have experienced first hand the real complications. I can tell you it isn't trying to drop 5 pounds before a photo shoot, or deciding to go to Maui or Cancun for a little "r & r"! Umm, complicated? I would take that complication any day! No, the real complications come in the form of DCF notices that say, "Your food stamp application has been denied." Complicated is trying to locate your ex-husband who has all of a sudden decided that child support did not fit into his lavish lifestyle of skydiving the friendly skies with the red headed husband stealer tied to his back. It's complicated when you can't find a job, you can't take your kids to the doctor because you have no insurance or you can't keep food on your TV trays or the lights on in your shack. That, Denise, is complicated.
In my little complicated world, the list never ends. Funny thing is, I keep pushing through the complications and maintain my sense of humor albeit with a touch of the always lovely sarcasm, and a hint of bitterness, but always maintain my dignity along the complicated road of being a proud Real Single Mom! (I watch "It's Complicated" LOL)
Real Single Moms ROCK!
Granted, she is not the best actress in the world-- her claims to fame, so to speak, are her girl on girl action with Neve Campbell in Wild Things and her nasty divorce from Charlie Sheen. Ok, so now she wants back in the game! She wants to redeem herself, I guess. Ok, I will give her that. But saying her life is complicated really is an oxymoron, if you ask me.
As a (real)single mom, I have experienced first hand the real complications. I can tell you it isn't trying to drop 5 pounds before a photo shoot, or deciding to go to Maui or Cancun for a little "r & r"! Umm, complicated? I would take that complication any day! No, the real complications come in the form of DCF notices that say, "Your food stamp application has been denied." Complicated is trying to locate your ex-husband who has all of a sudden decided that child support did not fit into his lavish lifestyle of skydiving the friendly skies with the red headed husband stealer tied to his back. It's complicated when you can't find a job, you can't take your kids to the doctor because you have no insurance or you can't keep food on your TV trays or the lights on in your shack. That, Denise, is complicated.
In my little complicated world, the list never ends. Funny thing is, I keep pushing through the complications and maintain my sense of humor albeit with a touch of the always lovely sarcasm, and a hint of bitterness, but always maintain my dignity along the complicated road of being a proud Real Single Mom! (I watch "It's Complicated" LOL)
Real Single Moms ROCK!
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Tuesdays with Morons
Domestic Violence Court at the county courthouse is not the ideal place to meet your future ex-husband. It could however be a really fun place to spend an afternoon snuggled up with a diet soda and a bag of Tostitos. It was a Tuesday and my friend Daisy had to endure the pleasure of filing a restraining order against the husband she had married only 2 weeks prior. Apparently, the guy was secretly popping pain meds and really just looking for a housekeeper/cook/nanny/sex goddess.
It was a bustling day at the courthouse and we were excited at the notion of surrounding ourselves with many interesting wife beaters. While Daisy made nice with the police officer tending the courtroom door, I plopped my fat rump on the wooden bench unknowingly in the defendant’s area. Innocently I nibbled on my Tostitos and fingernails, always a good combination in my book, and watched the hordes of women and men pouring into the place. I had to ask myself, who am I to judge? Just because the guy next to me had a giant black, and red no less, scorpion tattooed on his shaved head, and just because he gently rubbed his girlfriend’s very pregnant belly while waiting for his orders to not throw his very pregnant girlfriend down the steps, and just because he actually wore one of those proverbial white t-shirts that resemble a tank top, does not mean he is a bad person.
It seems most of us spend our entire existence predetermining, judging, speculating, and scrutinizing the people we come in contact with. It’s rather easy to do it and why shouldn’t we? Our lives are probably clean as a whistle. It seems almost tiresome to waste all that good brain energy on thoughts of disgust, jealousy, and cynicism. At this stage in the game, with many mistakes under my 40 something year old belt, judging and focusing on what other people may or may not be is taking up way too much of the little time I may have left on this funky little planet.
So, hopefully the next time I’m hanging around domestic violence court with any of my friends I may think twice about the guy sitting next to me in his Charlie Manson for President t-shirt. Who am I to judge that guy? That strange little man could be thinking the same judgmental things about me. Well, probably not until after the crack high wears off, but it does make me think. I am not squeaky clean by any means. Those 4000 stupid decisions I have made in my life also have come back to visit me on occasion. It’s that thing we call, Karma, I guess. I go through life thinking I will never have to face that jerky boyfriend who threw me out of his moving car on I-75 just because I changed the radio station. Or I will never have to again think about the ex-husband who ran off with the aspiring hotel maid because she reminded him of his mother. They could be very happy and adjusted humans by now. Just because I like to spend my Tuesday afternoons with morons at Domestic Violence Court judging the wife-beating, scorpion tattooed, crack head Charlie Manson cult followers does not mean everyone does. Who am I to judge anyway?
It was a bustling day at the courthouse and we were excited at the notion of surrounding ourselves with many interesting wife beaters. While Daisy made nice with the police officer tending the courtroom door, I plopped my fat rump on the wooden bench unknowingly in the defendant’s area. Innocently I nibbled on my Tostitos and fingernails, always a good combination in my book, and watched the hordes of women and men pouring into the place. I had to ask myself, who am I to judge? Just because the guy next to me had a giant black, and red no less, scorpion tattooed on his shaved head, and just because he gently rubbed his girlfriend’s very pregnant belly while waiting for his orders to not throw his very pregnant girlfriend down the steps, and just because he actually wore one of those proverbial white t-shirts that resemble a tank top, does not mean he is a bad person.
It seems most of us spend our entire existence predetermining, judging, speculating, and scrutinizing the people we come in contact with. It’s rather easy to do it and why shouldn’t we? Our lives are probably clean as a whistle. It seems almost tiresome to waste all that good brain energy on thoughts of disgust, jealousy, and cynicism. At this stage in the game, with many mistakes under my 40 something year old belt, judging and focusing on what other people may or may not be is taking up way too much of the little time I may have left on this funky little planet.
So, hopefully the next time I’m hanging around domestic violence court with any of my friends I may think twice about the guy sitting next to me in his Charlie Manson for President t-shirt. Who am I to judge that guy? That strange little man could be thinking the same judgmental things about me. Well, probably not until after the crack high wears off, but it does make me think. I am not squeaky clean by any means. Those 4000 stupid decisions I have made in my life also have come back to visit me on occasion. It’s that thing we call, Karma, I guess. I go through life thinking I will never have to face that jerky boyfriend who threw me out of his moving car on I-75 just because I changed the radio station. Or I will never have to again think about the ex-husband who ran off with the aspiring hotel maid because she reminded him of his mother. They could be very happy and adjusted humans by now. Just because I like to spend my Tuesday afternoons with morons at Domestic Violence Court judging the wife-beating, scorpion tattooed, crack head Charlie Manson cult followers does not mean everyone does. Who am I to judge anyway?
Monday, May 11, 2009
Full Throttle
It wasn't until I was about half-way through my mid-life crisis and hormonally imbalanced transgressions that I realized I have been operating full throttle on survival mode. Now, I don't want to bitch about it- that's not what I am getting at. I've just finally come to terms with my cynicism, sarcasm, zero tolerance for lame ass losers, and anything or anyone else that doesn't either pay my bills, put jars of peanut butter in my fridge or satisfy my 40 something year old body parts.
Being a full-time single mom and unless otherwise noted single dad when necessary is daunting at times- ok more times than I care to say. Again, I am not bitching about it. I put myself here. Knowingly, I made the decision to pack up my broken dreams, shattered heart, two kids, cat and my Wal-Mart plastic raft (because my ship still hasn't docked yet) and head on the trail to single motherhood.
It was almost 4 years ago. My kids were practically still in diapers when I set out to "do it alone". Jesus, I don't know how we survived even a second of the real world. I had balls I can tell you that much- hence the hormonal imbalance. I was a mouse in a maze, constantly looking for the big cheese and somehow always hitting the blocks, bouncing off and searching again. Actually, when I think back, I have forever been in super survival mode. Maybe it's the Virgo in me, maybe it's my mom who taught me the essence or pure cynicism, maybe it's the 100 foot wall I built around myself and my kids. Whatever it is or has been, all I really know how to do is survive.
Forget the idea of living. Forget the joys of motherhood (blah). Forget the idea of romance (hehehehehe). Forget: relationships, peace of mind, happiness, love, feelings, emotions, or anything that requires an ounce of energy or thought. Forget it all, at least for now.
Being a full-time single mom and unless otherwise noted single dad when necessary is daunting at times- ok more times than I care to say. Again, I am not bitching about it. I put myself here. Knowingly, I made the decision to pack up my broken dreams, shattered heart, two kids, cat and my Wal-Mart plastic raft (because my ship still hasn't docked yet) and head on the trail to single motherhood.
It was almost 4 years ago. My kids were practically still in diapers when I set out to "do it alone". Jesus, I don't know how we survived even a second of the real world. I had balls I can tell you that much- hence the hormonal imbalance. I was a mouse in a maze, constantly looking for the big cheese and somehow always hitting the blocks, bouncing off and searching again. Actually, when I think back, I have forever been in super survival mode. Maybe it's the Virgo in me, maybe it's my mom who taught me the essence or pure cynicism, maybe it's the 100 foot wall I built around myself and my kids. Whatever it is or has been, all I really know how to do is survive.
Forget the idea of living. Forget the joys of motherhood (blah). Forget the idea of romance (hehehehehe). Forget: relationships, peace of mind, happiness, love, feelings, emotions, or anything that requires an ounce of energy or thought. Forget it all, at least for now.
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