Confessions of a Single Mom
I am a single mom.
Not where I expected to be at anytime in my life, but this is where I now find myself. I've been divorced for 16 months. There are days when that seems like a long time and days when it seems like only yesterday. Still, friends and strangers sometimes ask how I'm doing.
(Most people don't ask, and I have yet to determine why. Is it:
a-They assume 16 months is enough time to be over it.
b-They can't fathom how difficult this time in my life has been.
c-They are afraid I might actually tell them the truth. OR
d-I always appear to have EVERTHING together, forever the picture of PERFECT MOM.
People sometimes ask how I am doing. Sometimes I think they really want to know.
So, here is my current answer to this question. This answer is subject to change at any moment of any day, but here is how I would answer right now:
My house is a mess. My car is a mess. My purse is a mess. My yard is a mess. My desk is a mess.
But, I am not a mess!
This is my great room. What you see strewn across the floor is laundry. Most of it is clean, I think. I have the most difficult time keeping up with laundry. We wash it, we sometimes fold it, and we sometimes put it away. The current problem is: there is not enough room for all of the laundry.
"Purge," you say. "Who has time?" I ask. "Get your children to help," you suggest. "Do you have a Drew Bear at home?" I might ask.
I have projects planned, lots of projects, but the reorganizing and sorting through wardrobes has yet to make to the top of the list. I suspect it will before each of my children graduate from high school, and I am confined to a wheel chair. You may also feel better if you learn that my great room floor no longer looks like that; however, my bedroom does. My house is a mess, but I am not.
Things are messy. But, we are not. I don't have as much time to do what used to seem very important anymore. But, I do have time to be mama. And, that is MOST important.
You may see us pull up to the grocery store to buy popcorn for movie night, or chicken livers for fishing. We are on a mission to enjoy life. If you see us in the parking lot, beware. Any number of things my fall out onto the pavement when we open the door. It may be a box of crayons, a French fry from last week, a flyer from church, or a bar bell. If it is the barbell, we apologize in advance for the injury to your foot. My van is a mess, but I am not.
If you find yourself behind me in the checkout line at JCPenney, please do not judge me by the looks of my purse. When I reach in to retrieve my wallet and my debit card, I might pull out a catheter, one of 47 receipts for recent or not-so-recent purchases, a half-eaten granola bar, the foam thingy that separated my toes at my last pedicure, my camera card reader, chapstick without a cap, or 79 pennies from the last time my coin pocket emptied. If you see any of these things, do not be alarmed. My purse is a mess, but I am not.
I admit that I have been a mess. Sometimes I was a mess, but my van was not. Sometimes I was a mess, but my house was not. (That might have happened once.) Sometimes I had a new purse, so my purse was not a mess even when I was.
But, for now.
My house is a mess. My van is a mess. My purse is a mess. My desk is a mess. My yard is a mess.
But, I am not.