Joys of Single Motherhood

I went away this weekend, at least for half a weekend. I left on Saturday afternoon and came back after work today. Staying that extra night meant getting up at 0530 and stumbling into the car at 0600, but it was worth it just for a few more hours of freedom. Getting away these days reminds me of when I was a teenager--the quiet thrill of being alone, with no one to direct you or nag you. Nowadays it's more like no one to dictate a trip to the toy store and no one to carp about today's bag lunch. No one to demand "Green Day!!, Green Day", when I want to listen to Maroon 5 instead. And I can watch whatever I want on television. It's hard to admit, but the freedom to sit and flip between baseball and an ancient episode of Mayberry RFD is also a luxury. A small luxury but still. It takes me about two hours to drive those 100 miles. There's a quick zip up a real highway and then town after town on a mostly two lane road. Once I would have called most of these town

Okay, I admit it, I went looking for trouble. I was sitting on the couch with my daughter last week. I was reading and she was downloading songs from iTunes. I was curious so I asked to hear a Beyonce song. I was taken aback--the lyrics were all about um...having sex. The song was about a young woman who wants to have sex but is rebuffed by her boyfriend--or at least some guy. I was appalled and asked her not to download anymore Beyonce songs. She agreed and that was that. Fast forward to my previous meanderings on girls and growing up too fast. I started thinking about the music that tweeners listen to. Like most old fogies, my starting point is always "how does it compare to way back when?" Frankly, popular music was absolutely awful when I was a tweener. It was before the birth of FM radio and AM was a cesspool of mediocrity. A cesspool of mediocrity that is still taking up many memory cells in my corroding brain. We were subjected to stuff like "The Ballad of Billy J

Years ago my friends with daughters and I used to say "I don't want her to grow up too fast." For me, my concern was focused on clothing. No two piece swim suits and no skimpy halter tops, no stretch leggings, and no cutesie tops with sayings like "Daddy's Little Princess". In short, nothing with even a hint of "prosti-tot" fashion would be allowed in the house. Other than that I didn't think about it too much. Now she's a tweener and surprisingly, I'm still not concerned. However, I am concerned about affording college and retirement considering the cost of clothing at tweener shops. We visited two tweener shops at the mall this afternoon and my wallet is still spinning. Two stores: five tops and one head band=$135.00 on Visa (debit card). Watching my son try on head bands and cheesy chunky jewelry? Priceless. His hair is so long now some of the head bands looked good on him. Got the hair out of his eyes too. For some reason--maybe be

Like most of us, I am not at my best on an early Sunday morning--okay, 8:45 isn't that early--when I stumble down the street to the grocery store to pick up the Times and some Diet Coke. This morning I had on my biking stuff, my Raybans and a grungy ball cap that I prize above all others because it came from an old beau. I was sneaking toward the register when I heard a high pitched voice ask plaintively "Sal, oh Sal, is that you?". When I nodded and recognized this fellow school mom, she added "Or, Mrs. Smith, I guess?" I rolled my eyes behind my sun glasses and waited. She introduced herself unnecessarily--our kids were in both kindergarten and first grade together. During those school years, I'd spent several afternoons from 2:50 to 3:05 chatting with her about the kids and other useless stuff. I remember her and even her son's name. Either she didn't think I'd remember her or she wasn't quite sure it was me underneath the glasses and stai

School has started and mothers everywhere are happy and sad. Happy that the kids are now safely away from 9-3 every day and sad because now the daily homework/sports/lessons grind begins for another year. I am mostly happy so far. For two mornings now, I've gotten up at 0700, gotten myself clean and dressed and then chased the kids into their clothes. They leave at 8:15 for their 3 minute walk to school and I pull out of the driveway at 8:30. The system seems to work even with the additional task of putting together some semblance of lunch for both kids. My daughter likes chocolate sandwiches. I'm waiting for some other mother or perhaps some diligent aid to notice that my daughter eats candy for lunch each day. All right, it's not chocolate exactly--it's Nutella, but despite the "cosmopolite" touch I still consider it candy. I first ate Nutella with fresh banana slices on hot -off -the- griddle crepes--in Paris. Now you can buy huge American-sized vats of Nut

One of the oddest things about being a single parent is how different your life is depending on whether you've got the kids that day or not. My kids often sleep at their father's house one or two nights a week--sometimes more. On those days when the kids aren't at my house, I can leave work leisurely, stop to visit a friend and celebrate the fact that I don't have to cook dinner. For anyone. When I come in the door, the only beings demanding attention are the two cats and all they want is food. After that, I sit and read the paper and savor the neatness of my surroundings and the quiet. There are no giant Crocs lying in the main pathway between the front door and the kitchen. "Hannah Montana" and "The Suite Life of Zack and Codey" are not blaring from the television (I know it's the " Gilligan's Island " of today but it still seems so much worse than the Skipper and Maryanne. Gilligan was certainly a tad smarter than Patrick Starfis