I’ve decided, as soon as I get myself out of the current situation in which I find myself, I’m going to start a charity. I’ve learned over the last few months that there are plenty of agencies that will help pay your housing, utilities, day care, food, etc. if you are unemployed or underemployed. But what happens if you have a decent job but still can’t pay your cost of living bills? You make “too much money” to qualify for help of any kind. I’ve heard these shallow words over and over. Quite frankly I consider them a slap in my tax-paying face. I can’t speak for anyone else, but in my situation, daycare alone is more than half of my net income. I have three children. I realize this is more than the 1.5 or 2.5, whatever the national average is, but it’s not like I’m Kate plus eight or the Octomom, either. I just need a little bit of help for a few months.

I always thought that if you worked hard you’d be able to give your children a decent life. Now that the veil of reality has been lifted, I feel like I need to do something. I don’t want any other single mom trying to make a better life for her children be turned away from agencies without a clue of where to go or what to do. I am so thankful for the friends who’ve pointed me in the right direction and keep encouraging me at every dead-end. I want to be able to help future women and children pay bills, buy food, clothing, whatever they need to provide for their families while they navigate the no-man’s land between marriage and freedom, “qualifying” for aid and being able to do it on your own. Wish me luck!

So it’s been awhile. Sue me!

Actually, please don’t. I’m confident that my retainer was spent about three months ago and I’m working up one helluva tab. If only I was getting vodka in return! Instead, hopefully, I’ll be getting some finality and the ability to step out of the rabbit hole.

But that is neither here nor there.

I had an epiphany. Being a mother really IS the hardest job in the world. On one hand you’re managing daily needs: food, clean clothes {or at least clothes that don’t smell too badly}, soccer practice, gymnastics, cheerleading, school supplies, hair, iPods, earrings, toe nail polish… Oh, and when I turn 7 I can have an iPhone like you right? I want to play Angry Birds on the bus.
Then you have to manage feelings and acceptable behavioral protocols: so-and-so was mean to me. She kicked me. He hit me. She punched me in the throat. He took my shoes. She looked at me funny.
All the while keeping calm and trying to appear that you’re A) in charge and B) you have ANY clue what the heck you’re talking about.
These tasks are all made infinitely harder when you’re attempting to be amazing at them all. Alone. But what other choice do you have? Let your children grow up to be “THOSE” kids in the grocery/restaurant/mall – NEVER! So you keep plugging away, sleep be damned, until the last dish is in the dishwasher, the last pair of Princess underpants are clean and the last adorable little freckled nose has been kissed and tucked into bed.

Thankfully I’m surrounded by an army of amazing friends. A few have children but most do not. {While my checkbook would like to not have to write that weekly check to daycare, my life would not be nearly as full.} My mom-friends know where I’m coming from and give me support, coupons, and helpful tips such as bathing two girls at once. What? You can do that? My non-mom gal pals keep me going by listening, encouraging, and reminding me that I’m, above all, a Domestic Diva. And taking me to swanky cool-kid places that only non-mom gal pals would know about.

My new positive outlook on life took a big hit last week and has been slowly sinking, but I’m bringing it back. I know who loves me. I know who will support me and keep me going in times of crisis. I know that while I may be alone to do the dishes and take out the trash, I’m not alone in life.

And that makes me very happy ❤

After a week and day of eating like animals I finally uncovered the silverware.

A little background: I was the person who fixed everything growing up. Someone ripped the head off a Barbie, I fixed it. Someone tore a wheel off of a car, I fixed it. Going off to college and getting my first place was no biggie. I hooked up my TV / surround sound, moved furniture. I even had my own set of tools. I was totally self-sufficient. Six months after graduating from college, I got married and quickly forgot how to be amazing. The toilet is making sounds? HOOONEEEEEY! The cable guy wants to know where to drill and what kind of something-or-0ther we need. Huh? SWEEEEEETIE! The doctor says we’re not done yet; something about a placenta. What?!

Now skip ahead nine years, three children and one pending divorce.

Moving day wasn’t so bad. I broke my foot, but the lamps were spared.
Until the helpful movers said they couldn’t re-install the washer and dryer for me. Something about flood liability. Panic. Thankfully my new landlord popped by and set them up. The first morning waking up in the new place was peaceful and harmonious. Until I took a barely-warm shower. For someone who likes super hot water, this was no good. Thankfully I remembered back to the days of me when I knew how to do things like that, went out to the hot water heater, and turned up the temperature to one stop short of “hell.”  YAAY! Go me!

Not so fast.

Remember the washer and dryer so expertly hooked-up? They were fantastic — until I tried to use them. I thought it was a little odd that the “hot” I’d put the towels on was more cold than anything. Hum, maybe the water just needs to warm up. My washing machine has been relegated to the garage, after all. I sat down for a nice break after three days of packing and unpacking. 20 minutes into the wash cycle, I hear a tidal wave hitting the concrete garage floor. The same garage where most of our belongings have been temporarily stored until we can completely unpack. SHIIIIIIIIIT! I flew out the door to see gushing water exploding from the drainage hose hooked into the hot water heater. I immediately paused the washer, tossed bags and boxes across the garage out of the way of the water and called the landlords. Who came over two hours later. It was Sunday. After looking the problem up and down, they headed off to the local hardware store. Which was closed. It was Sunday. So they headed 20 minutes away to Lowes, got some supplies and came back. Another 15 minutes — all fixed! We start up the washer. Now water is spraying from the other end of the same connection to the hot water heater. {I did not bother asking why the washing machine was draining into the hot water heater.} What to do? Head back to Lowes. 40 minutes later, the washing machine is fixed and my underpants are on their way to being clean! Which was fabulous, because I forgot to mention that I was wearing my last pair. And I had to go to work the next day. Crimeny. The washer finishes, I toss everything into the dryer, turn it on and let the kids call their dad. 10 minutes later, with their father on the phone, the smoke alarm in the garage goes off. And blew my eardrums. Hey, “MOTHER OF THE YEAR” award, here I come! I hang up, call the landlords again. On a Sunday. How do I get this thing off?! “Take out the battery.” Hum. Safe. Effective. Let’s go with that. Upon further inspection, the silver dryer venting hose had come loose and was venting into the garage. The hot air tricked the smoke alarm into thinking it needed to alert the media. And Mars. My poor dog. After 15 minutes of wresting with an oddly-shaped hookie latch thingie, yours truly got the vent properly installed and the dryer rolling again! YAAY underpants!
The next two loads of laundry were uneventful. I noticed that both loads were very hot when I pulled them from the washer. I wonder… I went and got a monkey wrench from the tool box I had apparently stolen from my soon-to-be ex-husband {no matter that he didn’t know what a monkey wrench was, much less how to use one – tools go to the boy I guess.} Wrench in hand, I slid the washer away from the wall and found -HORROR- that the hot and cold water lines had been crossed. BOY INDEED! I unscrewed them, re-hooked them CORRECTLY and off we were to a very successful load #3.

Since that first weekend, I have taken out trash {hey, it’s a big deal when you haven’t done it for 9 years}, gone grocery shopping for 2 weeks with 3 children, unclogged a toilet ON A SUNDAY, hung frames, set up a computer, and just this morning, held the hair of my middle child who decided to vomit instead of tinkle before school. As a life-long sympathy puker, this was a big deal.

The good news here is that A) I can laugh about most of these things while they’re happening and B) it can only get better. Right?