Solo Mother

My grandmother is a breast cancer survivor. It meant she had a special bra. It didn’t mean much more to us grandkids, when I was young. But when they began the Walk for the Cure, there she was, my eighty-something grandmother on her daughter’s arm, wearing the badge of a survivor, giving inspiration to women thirty, forty years younger than she was. Young women with wild-colored hats would come up to touch her, be close to her, see this white haired, beaming little stooped old lady walking along the streets of Washington, DC, laughing as though the surgery she underwent, …read more

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Rats.
At least when I was married — in a difficult relationship, but still married — I could feel superior. I was sticking it out. I wasn’t like all those Hollywood types who seemed to be in and out of City Hall in a New York minute. Brad Pitt wanted a new life? Don’t we all, but I was going to tough it out, stand by my difficult man, and try to make some (diminished) life for myself. I thought they were all taking the easy way out.
I apologize. I was wrong, I had no business being all high-brow and snobby.
I’m …read more

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Walking back from the grocery store this afternoon, my kidlet off playing in the park with his grammie, I was suddenly struck by the possibilities.
Part of me wants a traditional relationship: marriage, mortgage, private school for the kid and a fancy car for me. Part of me is scared I won’t be able to do this all by myself, that I’ll “have to” find a man with a decent job, one who will love my son and raise him right, provide for him the things I fear I might not. Part of me never wants to be married again, and …read more

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I have cooked exactly one meal since we’ve been living la vida nomadic homeless loca. I hate cooking in Other People’s Kitchens. I just don’t know where everything is, and when I’m in the middle of the process, I don’t want to have to stop and wonder where the measuring spoons are.
My kid and I only have three hours together on weekdays, unless he wakes up in the middle of the night from a bad dream, in which case I usually end up crashing with him in his little bed. I don’t want to spend that time cooking, unless …read more

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The ex wanted our son to spend this first separated Christmas with him in Paris. Child development experts and child psychologists had advised me that this wasn’t the best of ideas, that our son would need stability before he could successfully weather such a huge thing like separating from his mother for a week or two, and so far away.

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Sometimes, the only thing standing between a divided family and poverty is… child support. If a parent decides to withhold that money, for whatever reason, he or she is putting the child in jeaopardy. And since I’m a single mother, I’m going to only write about it from the ex-husband not paying the ex-wife point of view, with apologies to the single fathers out there who are in the same boat. We can scrounge in the couch (i don’t have) cushions for enough change to buy a latte and split it.

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This week’s Carnival has something for everyone, so I think I’m going to toddle on off with a cuppa tea and catch up on how the other half lives. You know, the folks with other halves! I especially empathise with Kate’s post over at Babylune regarding finding adequate childcare while she works. It’s such a difficult thing to do, leave them with Other People. So she’s doing the best thing: flying in family!
Moving closer to family who can help love and raise my child was one of the biggest factors in returning to DC. The King of Everything …read more

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Being homeless sucks.

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I’ve lost ten pounds since we decided to break up. This is good.
I’ve done it by not eating more than one real meal a day. This is bad.
Diuretics have been veddy veddy good to me: if I drink any more coffee, I’m going to have to put a Starbuck’s bathroom in my purse — it would be the only way to make their bathrooms more convenient. Remember when our moms used to look for a MacDonald’s for emergency potty breaks? How times have changed.  But seriously, in the ultimate quest for fitness, I’m going to have to get serious.

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Some advice for those of you who are bursting with desire to help someone you know who is having difficulties: ask if you can help. Ask how you can help. If the person is reluctant to suggest something specific, you should do it. It’s very difficult for me to take someone up on a vague offer of, “Let me know if I can help.” If you want to help, be specific.

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