On Wednesday nights, my boys go with their dad.  And by go with him, I mean they spend a couple hours with him.  Sometimes it's dinner.  Sometimes it's just a trip to the library and then dessert.  Last night it was Barnes and Noble and a stop at the gas station for some cheetos and potato chips.  No judging here.  The boys came home elated for having spent some time with their dad, as they always were on those nights.  They were also excited about their cheetos and potato chips. And they were the most excited about the new lego sets they each got from their dad that very same evening.

We got pajamas on and nibbled on their snacks (they shared with me) while we watched a show.  Then it was time for bed.  They brushed their teeth and hopped into bed, ready to cuddle with me for a bit before falling asleep.  

My youngest was out first.  And then out of nowhere my oldest turned to me and said the most unexpected thing.

You never buy us potato chips or lego sets.

What???  Where was this coming from?  I was taken back by his statement to say the very least.  We were cuddling in bed.  He seemed happy to have spent time with his dad and happy to now be spending time with me.  I'm sure he didn't realize the blow he had just made, but I was surprised nonetheless.  The potato chip part was true.  I've never been a big fan of potato chips.  But as for the legos...what the...

I thought about all the things I did for both my kids every day.  The choices I made for them impacting everything from the food they ate to the activities they participated in to the school they were currently attending.  I thought about the beautiful home I alone had created for them and the new friendships in our community that I had worked to build.  I thought about every penny I spent on them compared to how much my Ex spent on them.  I also thought about the money my Ex still owed me.  I thought about the amount of time I had always given my kids verses the time their father was able to give and I wondered if they would ever truly understand the difference.  In a matter of seconds, I thought about all of these things simultaneously and I felt the need to defend my position.

But then I looked at my son and the entire narrative changed.

I explained to my son that there are things that dad does and there are things that mom does. And those things might be different. But it's okay because both mom and dad love him very much.  He seemed to satisfied with that answer or maybe he was just tired and was ready to fall asleep.

Then, because I had resisted the urge to say all the nasty things that first came to mind, I allowed myself to set one thing straight.

I have bought you lego sets.  You just have so many legos you probably don't remember.

I'm pretty sure he was asleep by that point.  But as I walked out of the room, I took a moment to note how nice the view was from the high road.

Back from the Dead

The title of this post has a dual meaning.  Number one, it's been a long time since I've written anything, so hello audience!  Anyone out there still?  Number two, I woke up the other day feeling pretty much like death.  I should've known it was coming.  I had seen the sad watery eyes of my children and understood it was only a matter of time until I was hit.  But knowing it's coming doesn't actually prepare you in any way for the arrival of such a sad state.  So when I woke up that morning, I knew I was F***ed. Thankfully my nanny arrived as planned so I stayed home from work and slept all day.  I woke up around 5 pm to have a sip of chicken soup and utter 2 words to my children.  Even after having slept the whole day, I still felt god awful.  I gave my nanny desperate eyes and she agreed to put my children to bed while I retreated to my room to shiver under a pile of blankets for the rest of the night.  My kids must have known it was bad, too.  Before climbing into my bed that night my eldest actually knocked on my door.  And my youngest waited until almost 3 am to join the party.  Say what you will about co-sleeping, but this was rather considerate behavior for my guys.  I woke up the next day still achy and stuffy but the feeling of death had surpassed.  I was going to be okay!  A normal person would've appreciated this improvement but taken another day to recover.  But as a single mom, I don't always feel like I have an option.  So I went to work.  And I made it through the day successfully!  By the time I got home, I was tired and ready to snuggle with my favorite people.  We had a snack.  We watched a show.  We cuddled and shared stories about our day.  We brushed teeth.  We got into bed.  I was too tired to read or tell a story, all I could offer was a song.  They were both tired too.  They were ready for my song.

Night Night Jack.

Night Night Rory.

Night Night Brothers.

It's time to go to bed.

It was a pretty simple song, but it was our song.  And they both loved it because it magically had their names in it.  Usually I repeated this for them several times until the first child fell asleep.  However on this night, I was only halfway through the 3rd round when I broke off into a coughing spell.  And at that exact moment, the most precious thing happened.  My oldest jumped in and began singing right where I left off.  He didn't miss a beat.  He just kept going in his sweet voice while I was choking away on my cough.  He caught me when I went down.  Pretty amazing, right?  For a 5 year old?  And he looked at me so proud because he knew I needed him in that moment.  

I layed with them a little longer feeling blessed and amazed and so in love with my children.  But more powerful than that, for the first time in a VERY long time, I felt inspired to write.  I wanted to capture this moment.  I wanted to tell my story. I wanted to share with all of you.  At the pace of life these days I don't know when I will get the time or motivation to do this again.  So I hope you enjoyed this read.  And until next time...all the best.

Take a Step Back

As mothers, we find unique and impressive ways to stretch ourselves every day.  The to do list never seems to end.  The time for ourselves seems to dimish more and more each day yet we continue to be present and deliver for our kids.  I'm not sure how that is-it just happens.  There are preschool forms. Doctors appointments that need to be made.  Shopping trips to multiple stores (Costco has the best price for the amount of milk my children consume but they absolutely love the yogurt at Trader Joe's). Sometimes I feel as though I don't even have a second to go to the bathroom (and most certainly, if I do- it won't be by myself!)

For me, parenthood seems even slightly more complex for one basic reason:  I am doing it all by myself.  I am a single working mother raising 2 little boys.  I am paying my mortgage and coordinating the appointment with an appliance guy when my washing machine starts leaking.  I am feeding and clothing two growing boys.  I am making sure the soccer socks and shin guards are not only purchased, but they are also packed when my boys go to their dad's this weekend.  (I also need to be sure my Ex has all the information regarding time and location for the soccer game.) I absorb emails from my son's preschool teacher to stay current with what he was doing in school.   I want my kids to be safe, healthy and happy.  I want them to know they are loved.

It's not always easy and I certainly don't always know what I am doing.  I struggle sometimes with the limits and when to really put my foot down.  Right now I'm trying to teach my 4 year old to make his bed in the mornings.  I've called this his "job" at home (as that is the vernacular used in his preschool class).  He is to wake up, get dressed (PUT HIS DIAPER IN THE GARBAGE!) and make his bed.  Then he can watch a show.  Some mornings are more successful than others.  He is tired and I am running late, so I put the show on and pick up the diaper and allow my nanny to make the bed when she arrives.  Some mornings we split the difference and the show comes on but the bed is made when my youngest awakes.  

The other morning, for example, he woke up and went downstairs.  I hit snooze 2-3 more times while hearing my son call to me from the kitchen requesting something to eat.  I finally slid out of bed and on my way to the stairs noticed his bed was already made.  When I got to my son, he was fully dressed (including shoes!) and ready to start the day.  I could not have felt more proud in that moment.

I was sharing the story with my mom on my way into work and once again the magnitude of everything I was doing hit me.  I had never planned my life to look this way.  I didn't want to be a single mom.  I didn't want to feel constant pressure at work and at home.  I never would've imagined that I would be solely responsible for raising 2 little people!  BUT I WAS DOING IT!  Then at that very moment, my mom pointed out something- probably the most important thing- to note.

And you are enjoying it.

Her words were so simple and yet so true.  I mean afterall, wasn't that kind of the point?  Weren't we all chasing that goal of ultimately being happy?  Here I was conquering motherhood every day…and when I stopped to think about it, my mom was right.  I was enjoying my kids- the ups and the downs.  I was laughing harder than I had ever laughed and I was smiling brightly from the two most amazing little people I knew.  I was in a good place.

So here is my advice to all you wonderful moms out there.  Scratch that item off your to do list today because you've accomplished it.  But take a moment to step back and really look at what you are doing.  YOU ARE DOING IT!  You are amazing, ambitious, organized, creative, successful, loving women and your children are very lucky.  Remember this.  And enjoy it.

The Best Moment of My Week

My oldest son had recently taken an interest in baseball.  Perhaps I should clarify.  He loved all sports and had always loved all sports, but he was now actually interested in watching sports.  Lately he would ask if the Cubs were playing that day.  One night, he even opted to sit in my room and watch the game while his brother and I took in some Curious George.  I was surprised that at 3 years old he could genuinely be interested in watching sports on TV, but then again, this wasn't the first time my child had surprised me.  He began asking for baseball quite regularly.  One morning, in fact, I put ESPN on for him, just to appease.  How frightening it was that SportsCenter was already ruling the airways in our house, but so I digress.  One night my son was watching the Cubs and asked if we could go to a game one day?  He wanted to go to a REAL game.  Like at the REAL park.  Not just like on the TV.  The REAL baseball game.  Now technically he had already been to Wrigley.  My Ex and I had taken him to his first Cubs game right around when he turned 1.  But that didn't really count because he didn't remember that.  I promised him that I would take him to a game this summer.  It was just a week or two later, I was talking to a friend at work about how I needed to take my oldest to a game this summer and he suggested we go this weekend.  He would come along with his son.  This was perfect!  My son would enjoy having another boy (an older boy, too!) around and I could enjoy a beer at the game without looking like a degenerate mom.  Win win.  I also now had a new thing to barter (threaten) with my son about for the rest of the week.  (Not that is was my goal to hang something over his head, but technically I considered that another win.)  I had a sitter lined up for my youngest so we were all set.  I went to the store and picked up a Cubs t-shirt in just the right size and pulled it out of my purse as I shared the news of the game.  He was excited.  Very very excited.  I loved this moment.  The excitement got my boys going which made bed time a bit more challenging.  I did everything I could to temper this (come on, I had started it afterall) but nothing could simmer the energy my oldest felt.  I finally (FINALLY) got my youngest in bed and was trying to get my oldest to settle when the sweetest moment occurred.  He looked at his Cubs t-shirt once again and then turned his attention to me.  He thanked me for the shirt and then he said it.

You're a good mama.

Yes.  He said those exact words.  My heart melted in that moment and I almost could have cried.  It was the simplest yet sweetest gift he could have given me.  You're a good mama.  I was being recognized by my 3 year old.  My role as a mom was being acknowledged and valued by a 3 year old.  What more could I ask for?