To Whom It May Concern...

Dear Children's Book Publishers,

Who's idea was it to have a book that makes noise? Because...that was the stupidest effing idea ever. I have been listening to sporadic dog barks and doorbells and swooshing sounds for the last ten or fifteen minutes and decided to investigate. Turns out, Dylan is playing
with
a
book.

It's a book with buttons that make obnoxious noises.

This is wrong. Books shouldn't annoy me. Books should be quiet. Books don't need noises, flashing lights, or batteries.

I know everyone is in a race to improve upon everything, but the only improvement books need is better writing. It would also be great if they fit nicely on a shelf.

I know you think your unreasonably large book is eye-catching, and it is, every time I see it, it catches my eye and I think "oh...there's that huge-ass book I am never sure what to do with," and I secretly hate it for messing up the continuity of my shelves.

Lets just have normal sized, quiet books with good stories inside. No batteries required.

Thanks,

Mum

Mindless Drivel

Today

was one of those days that wears you down relentlessly.

It was one of those days where I decide I should take up some sort of bad habit.

...in excess...

But am too damn tired to determine which habit and so I just sit on the edge of the bed and stare.

...blankly...

I'm pretty sure it's o.k. for me to feel like this from time to time. I think everyone gets this way. We all just handle it different. I think that regardless of my circumstances - if I had a husband I came home to, if I had all the money I ever needed, if I had the worlds most balanced chi - I would still have these days.

I couldn't say what exactly pushed my day to this point, as there was no specific incident. I think it is a combination of factors, the most obvious being work and my conscience.

Dylan and I haven't spent much time out and about. This is because I have been working an obscene amount and don't have the time/money/resources to come up with anything in our feeble hours of free time.

School will be starting again soon and my precious son will be in the second grade. I remember second grade and am entering into this with him with the full realization that he will come home one day aware of several new things. One of which will be the nurse's office and all it has to offer, as I can recall spending a majority of my days in the second grade in that very location. Another of which will most likely be a few new curse words. I can handle that. (I mean, have you read how I think?) Who the hell knows what else he'll acquire? I just hope it's something that can be either a) killed with anti-bacterial soap or b) explained in great detail without having to say "I'll tell you when you're older."

Here is something a little off subject that I want to say...

If you are a heterosexual man and you are attracted to women, I understand there is a wide range of emotions and a variety of ways of dealing with whatever life throws your way.

One of which is to look at a problem and want to fix it. I understand men want to be fixers, and, for the most part this is great for things like a clogged drain or dead car battery. . . it is not great if your partner needs you to help her by listening...

Sometimes, men, you should stop yourself and let it go. You should tell yourself that you need to listen and also to shut up. This is doubly important when someone is anxious and needs to get it out. I have only met a few men who are great listeners, and those were professionals I was paying to listen.

So. Listen.

That was not so much for myself as it was for a dear girlfriend of mine's husband, both of which are GIAPH readers. When she called to talk, it hit home with me because I can remember feeling precisely that at times when I was dating...so...there it is.

Dylan has these two plastic light saber knock offs that we got in the city one weekend. One glows red and the other glows green and I have tried - unsuccessfully- about 18 times to get rid of them. The reason is that he whacks the shit out of the back of my legs every single time he plays with them. Sometimes I hide them under the couch or in drawers or in the trunk of the car. I won't see them for a few days, and then they suddenly appear. It is starting to baffle me, but I refuse to comment because then he'll be aware of my grand scheme to spare my calves from any more bludgeonings.

I found the mother-of-all-hiding-places about two days ago, and put them in the top of my closet behind some boxes. Sure as shit, this morning he walks into the kitchen with them shoved down the sides of his shorts (like a holster kind of. that's how he wears them) just minding his own business. I almost dropped my coffee.

...yeah...still haven't figured that one out yet.

one hundred thirty three dollars and fifty two cents.

How to spend one hundred dollars in less than one hour.


1. Fill your gas tank while you still are at half-full. - 26.54

2. Take your six year old son to the local fair.

3. Take one look at the local fair and the fair-goers and get back in car. Drive to nearest drug store and purchase hand sanitizer - 6.98

4. Return to fair and purchase 25 tickets - 25.00

5. Ignore that you just purchased said tickets and, instead opt to throw a super ball into a bucket repeatedly until you win a 7" tall stuffed Spiderman. - 5.00 x 8 = 40.00

6. Run - full speed - toward the elephant ears. Indulge - 6.00

7. Run - full speed - to the "Spider". Ride it. Twice.

8. Climb up the moonwalk slide. Roll down on your side.

9. Ride the "Spider" again.

10. Vomit said elephant ear into nearest trash can.

11. Purchase another elephant ear - 6.00

12. Decide to stop riding rides despite still having 15 tickets.

13. Throw darts at 4" diameter balloons until you win an inflatable hammer. WITH A SQUEAKER. - 3.00 x 6 = 18.00

14. Ear of Corn - 2.50

15. Drop ear of corn. Purchase another - 2.50

16. Drag feet to car, whilst screaming inconsolably. Drive home with pockets full of tickets, a 7" vomit-covered stuffed Spiderman, and an inflatable hammer WITH A SQUEAKER.

Total of endeavor: 133.52
Lesson learned: priceless


"It's good to have money and the things that money can buy, but it's good, too, to make sure you haven't lost the things that money can't buy." - George Horace Lorimer

When He Was Two

Me - "WH-WH-WHAT'S ON MY SHOWER CURTAIN, DYLAN?

Dylan - "little bit of poop, maybe."

Me - "Maybe? MAYBE? ...it looks like poop, Dylan."

Dylan - "It's poop mum."

Me - "Did you use the shower curtain to wipe your butt?"

Dylan - "um.uh.no"

Me - "Then why is there poop on the shower curtain?"

Dylan - "um. a bad guy? a bad guy did it..."

Me - "You did it. You wiped your butt on the shower curtain, didn't you? I can tell that's what happened."

Dylan - "maybe dest a little bit. a little bit of poop."

New Photography

New Photography

Dating and The Single Mom

It was bound to happen eventually...this topic would come up.

I guess it's hard to know where to start on this topic...the first word that comes to mind is "insurmountable." Christ, that's such a poor word choice, but it is what I thought of. So. I'll start there.

I wish I had the time and insight to write some sort of how-to book on dating single moms. I wish I could put some stereotypes to rest, and others on a pedestal for their degree of truth...but I don't want to address stereotypes. I want to explain this "insurmountable" business that is at the forefront of my head.

First of all, the love I have for my son. That is insurmountable. I don't suspect anyone who isn't in my position would ever understand how deeply this love runs. It is in my blood. It's in my fibers. It is on a cellular level. Anyone who dates a single mom, myself included (but don't count on it.) should know that this love is insurmountable.

You will never conquer it.
You will never be able to hold a really long stick and touch it.
You'll never come before it.
You'll never hop the fence around it, you'll never walk up it's driveway even.

So don't fucken try.

My level of tolerance with the opposite sex has grown so slim that sometimes I forget that handsome men exist. Sometimes I forget to be attracted to anyone. Sometimes I feel asexual, as if my entire self is on the planet to work and poop. I forget that I am entitled to companionship outside of a 6 year old little boy.

I can only speak for myself, but I think all single moms get this way at times. We forget men are there for...whatever their function is.

I think I have been alone with Dylan so long that if I were to ever be in a committed relationship, I would be clueless as to what the other person's role would be in his life. I fear I would stand between them in order to be that much closer to Dylan.

I fear my life will always encircle Dylan, making it impossible for me to foster any other type of relationship.

I fear I am so hellbent on surviving that sometimes I forget to thrive.

And I think this fear is
insurmountable.

As a single mom, I don't always know what I want. I don't like dating. I don't like putting on makeup. I don't like all of the hoops and loopholes. In fact, I prefer being alone to all that dating entails...if I do all this...you'd better be worth it. Don't waste my/our time.

We all have a story about how we got to where we are. If you don't know that story, then there is a good chance you really don't know us. While I can only, once again, speak for myself, getting to where I am has been a life-changing and painful journey. Most single moms have fought harder than hell to get where they are. Most of us have experienced pain, abandonment, and utter confusion more times than one can imagine, all while holding a child on our hip.

We have fought tremendous battles with a child.
sucking.
on.
our.
breasts.

Dating a woman like that takes a lot of strength. It takes a lot of patience. I, like all women, can be insecure. I break down, I don't really ask for help and usually laugh when a man offers. I don't usually open up the way anyone wants me to. I can be nasty. I can be obnoxious. I am over-protective of every single thing that means anything to me.

Because I fought the insurmountable to get it.
And I will be damned if anyone takes it away.
Ever.

I will turn my back on you and never look again if you complicate my life, if you hurt my son, if you insult me, question me, or make me ever feel like less of a person.

Because I didn't start this journey the way I am now.
And a lot of destroying took place for me to rebuild.
And unless you are some amazing architect, which you aren't, I will never let any more destroying take place.
Ever.

There is a good chance it will be just Dylan and I for the rest of our lives. I may never get married and he may never have a father figure, but he will have so much more because I never sold us short. It's my responsibility to choose someone that will compliment us, respect what Dylan and I have together, and never stand in the way of our connection with one another. It is my responsibility to show Dylan how strong women behave. To show him what kind of people we need around and who to disregard.

It is my responsibility to remember where we came from and to recognize all of our blessings.

I would like to think that we are survivors, we are warriors, and we are worthy of someone who respects that and wants to join the fight.

I would like to think all single moms recognize this in themselves. Companionship is just a detail. Parenthood is what really matters.

In closing, I would like to say that, when dating single moms, you are either with us or against us. You will either enrich ours and our children's lives, or you will bring us down. It takes a special breed of man to love a woman and her child the way they deserve, and if you aren't that kind of man, it's ok. If you are a single mom and you don't feel you deserve someone like this... (which so many of us do)...you SO DO. Everyone is entitled to unconditional and true love. Some of us just have a tough road finding it.


"Those who escape hell never talk about it...and nothing much bothers them after that." - Charles Bukowski

Don't Tread On Me

Today is July 4th.

It is difficult to maintain train of thought with the crackle of bottle rockets as background music, but I'll try. This year, Independence Day has been exceptionally disappointing, as the weather is just terrible, 70ish and rainy. Dylan fell asleep around 10 and I'm not far behind him.

Yesterday, we attempted the Taste of Chicago, but it ended up a disaster. We took the train because Dylan has never been on it. Our train was about 40 minutes late leaving the station.
Dylan was occupied for about 11 minutes total, after which he decided to play I spy, which is an impossible game on a train as the scenery is obviously ever-changing. Once we got there, and after a long, tiring walk through a sea of people, we found ourselves in line for food tickets at about 8:23 p.m.
...not knowing that ticket sales end at 8:30 p.m., we watched as they flipped the "Open" sign to "Closed" in front of our very faces. Slowly, I exhaled, looked at Dylan's panicked eyes, and realized that this was not something worth mourning - not even for a minute - and explained to him what a non-big deal this was. We headed through another endless crowd of people and found ourselves at a chain-restaraunt, eating potato soup and drinking tea. We missed the fireworks.

En route to the train station to head home, we stopped here, where Dylan insisted on playing in the water and my ever-present momguilt allowed him to.

While the experience left him wet and shivering, he got a few minute's thrill out of it. Who am I to take that away?

Things have been hectic lately, leaving me without much time to blog. I'm sorry to those of you who read this for that. I'll try harder. In the time that has passed, Dylan has cut his own hair:
Received a stern talking-to about making better choices, and learned to laugh at his own ridiculous-ness. I didn't make a huge fuss about the hair incident. At first, I think the shock of it infuriated me more than anything. I really thought he knew better and wouldn't pull something like that. I was proven so wrong when I stepped out of the bathroom and saw him looking like a little dutch boy who got his head stuck in a weed-eater. Needless to say, we headed straight for a haircut joint and discussed the situation on the way. He was ashamed, knew he knew better, and promised to never take such things into his own hands again. I, in response, hid all of the scissors I could find within a five mile radius in a very high location that I will never disclose.
Yes, the photo is funny. I must have laughed for 20 minutes when he came up to me to show me what he'd found. But, damn...that hair is something else.

T-ball has ended. Dylan played a good season that I, regrettably, was not always able to attend. I look forward to baseball, as I know he will do well. He seems like a natural talent. He just needs to work on his attention span. Here is a photo of the new haircut on the day of his last game:

What a big kid. How did that happen? I could pour out some 'it seemed like just yesterday's', but I'll spare everyone.

I am so proud of who Dylan is turning into. He is so rambunctious, overjoyed at the thought of doing anything new and bringing along anyone who will come. He is easy to be around, generally honest as long as his ass isn't on the line, and one of the funniest people I know. The best thing about being us is that we never have to do anything alone. I never feel lonely and neither does he. He is my comrade, hands-down the very best friend I have ever had. I don't like to go many places without him and when I do, I spend a good chunk of the first hour there wondering what he is doing and if I have forgotten to tell him anything important, like how much I love him.

Dylan seems to understand me better than anyone else in my life. He knows what I mean before I have to explain. We generally want the same things at the same times. We agree on what days would be good lazy days and what days would be good galavanting days (Sunday Funday, obviously.) We can share our dinners, share a beach towel, share a seat, share a spoon, share a tee-shirt, and neither of us complains. We can sleep in the same bed rhythmically and without disturbing each other, yet somehow wake up at congruent 45 degree angles.

And, this child, he can make me laugh harder than anyone I know, and I, him. We can lay in an empty room and remain entertained for as long as necessary. We rarely mind waiting when the situation calls for it and our humor compliments the other's just perfectly.

I'm lucky to have someone who gets me, and not because of any extranneous effort. It's just the way things are after spending almost 7 years together. Who would have thought such a perfect thing existed?

Not me, no way, not if I wasn't living it every day of my life.

It's an interesting thing, raising a child. Despite all the uncertainties in life, you are the one they look to for just that - to be the certain one. I try hard not to look Dylan in the eye and tell him "I don't know." I am constantly looking for solutions to problems, answers to questions, explanations for the way things are - in an effort to keep him from worry. Lord knows there have been times I have held desperately on to him because he was the only certain thing in my whole life, but God bless us, he has never known that was the situation at any given time.

There are these silent moments that generally occur while he is sleeping or sitting quietly in the car looking out the window that I notice that he hasn't a care in the world. I realize this human has the utmost level of trust in me...and it baffles me because I am always so unsure of myself. But I believe there is a layer of confidence that one only obtains in parenthood.

It is not the confidence that I know what I am doing - because I rarely do.
It is not the confidence that every thing will work out - because it rarely does.
It's not even the confidence that we will figure every little thing out - because it's never that easy.

It is the confidence that my heart is in the right place, that I am putting forth all the effort one human can. It is a confidence in hope. A belief in grace. I have a quiet, unspoken, undetectable confidence that I will overcome any obstacle that detours me -regardless of scale- and that he will be there with me.


"To bring up a child in the way he should go, travel that way yourself once in a while." ~Josh Billings