Joys of Single Motherhood

I was washing a frying pan this morning and I fiddled with the faucet to adjust it to spray mode. It works but you have to make sure that the duct tape that keeps the leak in check isn't disturbed. The faucet head is cracked. Kid 1 got tired of the leak about a year or so ago and bound it with tape. She did a good job. No more leak or not one that squirts water at you and soaks your sleeves. There is water damage to the walls in the living room and an ominous rectangular patch has appeared on the ceiling.  Kid 1 informed her father that soon the shower stall will crash through into the living room. She has the location wrong.  It's the floor in the front bedroom that is slowly being seduced by gravity. Outside, t he deck is rotted through and a gutter is hanging over the driveway. Meanwhile, the driveway is scattered with pieces of broken roofing tile. About a mile from here lives Dad. He lives with his wife, toddler and step-son in a house that is pristine. There is a new ro

When I grew up, children of divorced parents were spoken about in lowered tones. The parents were quietly disdained for "divorcing and creating a broken home. (Of course now one wonders how many men and women secretly wanted to head for the door as well. Divorce was often cited as a starting point for  "juvenile delinquency" and petty crime. For instance, you probably didn't take a baseball bat to Mr. Belesca's mailbox three streets over, if you knew your father "would tan your hide" if you were found out. When we were first divorced, Kid 1 was relieved when she realized that many of her peers lived with a single parent or were part of two reconstituted families. I was relieved that she was relieved. I got thinking about this the other day when I was standing around the neighbor's trampoline with my ex-husband supervising our 13 year-old son and his 3 year old son as they bounced together with his son squealing in delight. Both boys are adorable

[I have finally figured out--it wasn't that hard--how to add a "follow me" via email button on the home page. If you're a friend or relative or just someone generous with your time, please sign up. I'm so excited that it's there.] So, all summer long, I'd been thinking about a post entitled "The Three Things I Hate About Summer". I talked about it with Kid 1 in late June, asking her to please remind me of the latter two, because I was SO sure I'd remember my number one bugaboo... She denies ever having the conversation and now I have only two things I hate about summer", which lacks zing. Maybe the first one was "My memory gets worse in the summer months"....Anyway, here are my two summer gripes: #2  Screaming children. I really hate kids who scream continually as they play in a group outside. This ruins my lovely, peaceful summer day. I taught my kids not to scream from the moment they could babble. One day, Kid 1 scre

For mothers,  nothing says ' a utumn'  like digging out the summer reading list.  You know--that crumpled piece of paper with a dollop of sun screen on the back side and a smidgen of melted chocolate on the front. I couldn't find it.  I didn't even look.  The library interceded on my behalf. I had bribed my son with the promise of a Mine Craft session on the PC in the young adult room upstairs while I browsed the new fiction downstairs.  When I finished checking out I went upstairs to drag him away from his diamond shovel and his creeper catcher.  That's when I saw it--a sign saying "Summer Reading Books" with a neatly organized cart in the corner with all of the summer reading books shelved by grade. There were two books--one required and one optional. He let me choose.  I chose Death Watch by Robb White for his optional book. I read this book when I was his age.  I loved it.  It's about a college student from a tiny town who agrees to tak

Having a teenage daughter is hardly ever dull. We have that classic Love/Hate dynamic in play right now. There is no yelling or screaming but there is creativity.  Sometimes she peers at me from around corners and doorways and hisses "I hate you....",  like the giant serpent in Harry Potter. It's too silly not to laugh. Now when she's ticked off or just annoyed,  she informs me calmly and with a straight face, of my impending demise.  "A cannibal named George is coming to eat you at 5. Please be ready." We tacitly agree that this sort of terribly aggressive acting out on her part is normal. It's a real burden. (Yes, I am being facetious). She does get furious with me about once a week or so and it's usually because I've said something in front of a friend of hers without thinking.  I can understand her frustration when these things happen. I've been cursed with foot-in-mouth disease forever. But I have learned the drill now. It is okay for

On Monday morning, the phone rang early. It was my eighty-two year old father and he was clearly upset. My brother John's landlord had called to report that John's apartment seemed to have been abandoned. The furniture, dishes, books, etc. were all there, the door unlocked, the rent unpaid. Alex, the landlord had last seen my brother on July 1st when he paid his rent. Now the apartment was intact, but my brother was nowhere. The landlord found scads of partially completed job applications scattered around the apartment. He only found my dad's phone number by chance. Alex found it on an application. On most of them, he'd listed his ex-wife's parents as his next of kin. His cell phone was in the charger and his wallet was on the kitchen table. His car had also disappeared. I called the local police and filed an official Missing Persons Report. The two female detectives I talked to were friendly, sympathetic and very professional. Completely unlike anything on telev

I just finished reading two great books: The Casual Vacancy by J.K. Rowling (yes, she really can write) and The Cocaine Salesman by Conny Braam. I also sat through the movie "Wolverine" starring Hugh Jackman, whose muscles now sport their own muscles. Wardrobe costs must have been minimal as Jackman mostly wore either a dingy white "wife-beater" tank or was shirtless. I suppose no woman or gay man with a pulse would ever complain about that shirtless look. But as the blood gushed and the body count grew higher, I kept hoping he'd break into song a la the Oscars. Something like "Oh, the body count here is frightening, and the swords they slice like lightning but no matter how gory it gets---I get paid, I get paid, I get paidddd!" (Sing to the tune of "Let it Snow, Let it Snow".) Instead of singing or dancing, Wolverine performs open heart surgery on himself without washing his hands first. Back in the bloodless world of the printed page,