Being a single parent isn’t easy.  Without a husband, it is my job to wear all of the hats of parenting – at once.  More than just working, cooking and cleaning it is my sole responsibility to teach, play, discipline, protect, nurture and guide my children.  Thankfully, I have a lot of supportive grandparents, aunts & uncles and friends that have helped me in the process of “winging it” and making this parenting thing happen.  I know I am fortunate to have them and take my hat off to all of the parents out there that truly go it alone.

The bright side of being a single mom is that I don’t have to share any of their attention. At four AM there is no other place that my son wants to be than right by my side.  My little girl curls up under my blanket to watch Olympic figure skating with just me.  They both decorate Valentine’s cards and sugar cookies for Mama.  I get all of the hugs, kisses and I love you’s in our house and that is just fine with me. 

We are a tight little unit, my tiny family of three.  Someday we will grow, but for now I am reminding myself how special my life really is. 

Will had been watching TV in my bedroom when the realization of the bed-size injustice had obviously occurred to him.  “Mom, how come you get the biggest bed in the house?” he demanded as he stomped into the kitchen with his hands thrust angrily in the hair.

I was a bit puzzled.  “Well, I guess that’s because I’m the biggest person in the house.”

He cut his eyes at me and pointed his finger at my nose.  “But I am the man of the house and someday I will be bigger than you.”

It’s true; in the future he will tower over me with a six foot frame and most likely outweigh me by a hundred pounds.  That day is approaching rapidly and against my will.  However today, in one fell swoop he was dangling by his ankle at eye level with the Wo-Man of the house who proceeded to tickle him into submission. “Maybe someday, but not today Little Man!” I shamelessly taunted.

There’s always going to be a pecking order around this house and little does he know that Mama, no matter what his size, is ALWAYS going to be at the top of the food chain. 

The doctor excused herself to give me a moment to recollect my sanity and my mother’s wide eyes turned on me in confusion. “What’s wrong with you?”

I was still sobbing. “I can’t do pigtails! I can’t do tea parties! I want a boy who will play in dirt and try to set the woods on fire!”

What I was trying to convey – very incoherently – was that the thought of being a mother to a little girl struck fear in me that rivaled the caliber of fear I felt watching airplanes circle above my building on the morning of 9-11.  I was genuinely terrified.  A tomboy to the core, I was very ill-prepared in the ways of princess parties, EZ Bake Ovens and ballet recitals. Being a single mom was going to be difficult enough. Surely God could cut me a little slack and grant my small request of letting the baby be a boy. And yet, the three little dots on the screen sealed my fate.

Fast forward six years. One day this past summer, my little princess brought me a handful of worms out of the backyard. She was decked out in her Sleeping Beauty dress (which she promptly changes into whenever we walk in the door). Rather than holding a magic wand, she had a magic shovel. Instead of glass slippers she stomped around in bright green rain boots. Through the dirt and mud on her face, she was smiling.

You can’t tell me that God doesn’t have a sense of humor.

Life doesn’t always turn out how we think it should… on occasion it turns out even better.

About six weeks ago I was running around frantic because it was 8:30 and I am supposed to be at work by 8:30. Not only do I live twenty minutes away from my office, but Canaan was still half asleep in her jammies on my bed, I was dripping wet from the shower, and my son would not put down Thomas ChooChoo to come get his clothes on. You can only imagine the level of frenzy in my house that morning. The scene was something like this:”Will, come here!” I bellowed to where Will and Thomas were doing laps around the dining room table.A tiny finger stretched through the bedroom doorway. “One second Mama.” “No, one second. Come here now!” “One second!” he repeated.

Taking action into my own hands, I marched to the dining room, swung my son into my arms with magnificent speed sending Thomas ChooChoo spiraling into orbit through the living room. I plopped him down on my bed, ripped his shirt up and over his head and slung it on the floor. His eyes were wide and he lifted both hands in the air, palms out, as if to silence me. He paused for dramatic effect and then said calmly, “Mama… welax.”

The life of a single mom is anything but relaxing. Most days are spent before I ever even fully realize that they have begun. I’ve come to fully understand those women who just pack up and skip the country without looking back because they just can’t deal with life here anymore. I begrudgingly wake up, go to work, come home to play mommy, work some more and then go to bed just to get up and do it all over again. I realized that this is NO WAY TO LIVE.

Am I going to go and buy that plane ticket for Bora Bora? Not this week. Instead I’ve decided to take my son’s advice and WELAX. I have committed myself to three specific things:

1. I will in all cases, no matter what madness or drama comes my way, be thankful. Thankfulness doesn’t come easy for me most days, it’s a choice, not a feeling. I am thankful for God’s faithfulness, my children, my family, my friends, my job, my home, and my bathtub…. Which brings me to thing number two.

2. I will indulge myself in some small way every day. That usually means I will take a bubble bath or two. (I have a rockin’ great bathtub and a pretty hefty water bill.) Other forms of indulgence may also include a bucket of guilt-free dark chocolate M&M’s, a glass of wine, or a new $8 dress that deserves a nice dinner out.

3. Thing number three in my quest to welaxation is to follow my heart and listen to myself. I will choose to listen to the real me rather than the imposter me that tells me that I am a failure, that I am incapable of making good decisions, that I am a bad mother, that I will always be the bad seed. This is simply not true and I will no longer listen to that voice.

Tomorrow is Monday. I hate Mondays, but maybe… just maybe I’ll only hit the snooze button once. New day… here I come!