How to say this without it coming out wrong.... Aside from the emotional chaos and inability to move forward, the hardest part of this limbo land I've created is single parenting with no break from my kids on their daddy days.

I know, plenty of you out there are true single moms. Full time, full on. I bow to you. I have no idea how you do it. It feels lame to whine here when Sam has them three to four nights a week.

But, obviously, I've come to whine, or I wouldn't have started this post.

I balance parenting and working (or, at least, attempting to work) five days a week. Because my work schedule is "flexible" and Sam's is not, Roxie and Lila are with me from Sunday night or Monday morning until Thursday evening. Sam has them Thursday night, but brings them back to me Friday morning before work and I take them to school. I get a few work hours Friday morning, and they're back with me all afternoon.

I know, many people have it harder. Many people can parent all day and pump out the work into the wee hours. Not me.

I require down time. Period. Lots of downtime. Without it, I can't function, and everything tumbles like dominoes.

I need balance. If I have my kids all the time half the week, I need a couple solid days of not being Mom. Not doing the bedtime routine, or waking to cries, coughs, and nightmares every other hour.

The half-in, half-out thing is not sustainable.

Here's my revelation of the week: We need to fully sever or move back into one place soon. Because until we do I'll be here, exhausted, in my tiny apartment trying simultaneously to work on my own goals and work as a family, and not doing either very well.

Here's a question: Should a mother take her daughter to see Sex and the City? Should I even be asking this question?

I loved the series, but I'm 51 years old. Is it proper for a 13 year old to see this movie?

I don't think so, though my daughter is begging me to let her go. She's seen the softened version of SATC on TBS, and she's in love with the characters. She wants to know what happens to them in the end or more specifically if Big and Carrie get married.

Every little girl's dream — a beautiful wedding complete with gown, flowers, an orchestra, an unblemished face — you know the perfect day. We all had it once.

In the third grade, I was set on marrying a preacher. Don't know why other than as a form of rebellion against my older brother and sister who were best buds and were always leaving me out in the cold. Marrying a preacher seemed to be a way to "get them back" for some reason. Using God as my weapon. Hmmmm.

I did marry, but I was six weeks pregnant and nearly 38 years old. I wore an India style outfit I bought at Pier One Imports (when they used to sell clothes) and I felt like crap. We went to the Justice of the Peace. I had to throw up in the middle of the very brief and non-frilly ceremony, but managed to hold it in until we got home.

I was so sick; I barely made it to the bathroom, removing my clothes as I went for fear of getting them stained. It was awful.

Later, and in sweats, I treated myself to Velveeta Cheese & Macaroni (about all I could stomach) while our few guests had Mexican dishes that made my stomach churn. Yeah, it was a great wedding day and a great experience. Some fairy tale.

Now, back to SATC. I've heard, though I do not know, that the movie is not all peaches and cream and that there is a dark ending. "Dark" meaning what, exactly? Don't know.

I went ahead and answered the question as best as I could. I told her that sometimes parents don't stay together, and if they marry someone else then the new person becomes a step parent to the kids. She didn't quite get what I was saying — probably because all she has ever known are two parents who stay together and never speak about separation in front of the kids — so I approached it from a different angle. 

I told her this: "If mommy and daddy decided they didn't want to be married anymore, and then mommy eventually married another man, that man would be your stepdad." This seemed to clear it up for her, but I looked over at my husband and realized that I had just painted a picture of one of his biggest fears. Before I could say anything else, my horrified husband said to my daughter loudly, "...but that's not going to ever happen, sweetie, so don't you worry about it."  

I think this wins for most awkward conversation I've had in a while. 

The thing that really amazed me was that my daughter didn't seem particularly alarmed by the whole concept. I'm not naive enough to think that she could care less if we stay together or not, but it was certainly a surprise that she was so easily able to accept the fact that sometimes parents just don't stay together. I guess that sometimes I don't give my daughter enough credit for how smart she is.

No, next week was not better. Next week was far too long for a little girl missing her daddy. I pointed that out. 

"Aw, don't make me feel guilty. I really don't want to feel guilty about this. I need time to do my own things and..." 

When you separate and you have children, be prepared. Be prepared to be the one who has to explain, gently, why we can't go see Daddy. Or why Daddy doesn't come have supper more often. Or why daddy has to leave to go home. 

Despite being used to this, despite knowing all the right words and the proper how-tos, I still feel the pain of having to disappoint a child when Dad just doesn't want to be a dad. 

Does it make me mad? Sure. Sure it does. Fathers should be there for their kids — all the time. 

What makes this such a hot issue when a couple splits up, though? I know married couples that live together and the father works 70 hours a week. He barely sees his kids. I know mothers too wrapped up in their own lives to care for their kids. 

When a couple splits up, why do people suddenly get all upset if dad doesn't want the kids for a day or a week? What changed beyond the situation before? 

I don't begrudge my ex his need for time on his own. No one should have to have their weeks full of work and responsibilities with no spare time left to relax and do what they want.

There's compromise, too. My girl wants to see her dad. Dad wants to be alone for a while. "How about if we come at 3 and just stay for a few hours? You have time to do your stuff and she'll be happy to see you."

My sweet little boy is getting a teensy bit aggressive these days and suddenly I find that I am being bombarded with all sorts of advice that I don't want to accept.

For example, Adrian has started pulling hair. But not any hair, just my hair, and it hurts! He'll yank my hair — hard — and when I shout "Ouch!" he laughs and laughs and laughs. It has been suggested that I pull his hair in retaliation, "show him what it feels like," they say. Ummmm, no thank you.

One of Adrian's other favorite things to do to me is to bite. Again, he'll just come over to me, bite me, and laugh like crazy when I say "Ouch!" And those new teeth are sharp! It has been suggested that I bite him back. "Only way to stop a biter," they say.

And yet another one of his "new tricks" is smacking me. This one doesn't happen as often and usually only when I'm sleeping, but still....

I took him to the doctor last week for a physical. The doctor that we usually see was out, so we had to see the physician's assistant. While we were there he asked me if there had been any changes in his behavior. I said, "Yes, as a matter of fact, there has," and told him what I just told you all.

He said that I need to put him in a time-out chair whenever he does any of these things. I explained that I had tried that but that Adrian will just get up; he doesn't understand that he is supposed to stay there — he's only 16 months old. I told him that rather than using the chair, I use the playpen.

Family. That is what holidays have traditionally been about. Father helps children celebrate Mother's Day by purchasing a card or two, flowers, a gift.

Maybe he helps your son and daughter prepare a breakfast complete with your favorite French toast, bacon, and eggs.

Today, moving beyond divorce, holidays have changed. This Mother's Day begins with getting out of bed and feeding the cat and the six little kittens now crying for their kitty food, walking the dog, making my bed, starting another load of endless laundry, and watching the weather channel. I watch the weather channel the way some people listen to the news or radio.

I turn the oven on to broil and I grab some Lenders bagels out of the fridge and split them with my fingers. I place them on my mother's 50-year-old pizza pan and slide the pan into the oven. I wait.

I open the fridge to look for my caffeine fix of sweet tea, and the pitcher is empty of anything except a single swallow. I grab my second choice, the kids' Pepsi. I turn and kick the door shut with my right foot. I pull the bagels out of the oven. I yell, "Breakfast!"

Happy Mother's Day to me.

There is no answer. I yell again, "Breakfast!"

I hear shuffling and laughter.

"Mom!"

"What?" I say. "Breakfast!" My frustration and self pity increasing.

My daughter calls me to her room. I stomp back to the hall muttering to myself about ungrateful children and my life without a spouse and no support, and then I open the bedroom door.

Her eyes wide and sparkling. My son stands beside her barely able to contain his laughter.

They pull their hands out from behind their back. She extends a large pink construction paper creation in front of me with pink paper roses glued to it. She has made a card. It is beautiful. My son has made me three Lego puppies.