God, how I hate being the single mom on Friday nights. Stuck home with sleeping kids while all the free world plays. I can't leave even for five-minutes to get ice cream from the quickie mart.

Even if I could, 14-hours into being mommy, after making three meals and washing three sets of dishes, after all day wiping butts, and a night of reading stories, my get up and go is gone.

This afternoon my friend Sequoia called. She's spent hours in the back yard watching her Blondie-girl splash around the kiddie pool. It's all you can do in this Portland heat wave.

We have the kind of hot that feels like being stoned. Too hot to think. Too hot to move. Too hot to breath. Way too hot to single parent alone. So you find water and wait it out. If you're solo, you try to find another mother to help get you through.

Sequoia is married, but hour for hour she single-parents more than I do. She does it all week. I'm on 24 hours for half the week, but the other half, I am free, free, free. And for tonight, I’m free.

It's close to dinner time, Sequoia’s husband's out of town, Blondie-girl goes to bed around eight, and then its empty hours ahead. There’s that hollow belly feeling that settles in around sunset.

Roxie and Lila are at the beach with their Gammy and PopPop, so I tell Sequoia, "Yeah, hell yeah, I'll come drink red with you."

Heat blows though my open car windows and Mt. Hood glows pink in the rearview mirror. This is the kind of summer day it was two years ago when I first knew.

Calf-deep in the wading pool at some sun-baked park, Lila in a swimming diaper at my feet and Roxie on the merry-go-round. One eye on each of my babies, and right there I realized the truth of how staying in that marriage would bring more pain than parenting alone.

When Sequoia opens the door her fingers are bare, wedding rings off. I wonder what she's been weighing today.

Odds are that when people hear the phrase "single mom" they envision an unwed teen, poor, uneducated, unemployed, and struggling. There is a real stigma attached to being a single mom. A recent poll of “Moms Today” revealed that:

• 86 percent of those interviewed believed that most single mothers are on welfare,

• 90 percent believed that most single mothers are under the age of 25 and

• 77 percent believed that most single mothers didn't graduate from high school.

I used to believe these things too, and then it happened to me. I was married. We decided to have a baby, and when I was eight months pregnant my husband left. Just like that, I was a single mom. I'd never been so terrified in my life. For the first few months I would ask, "How did this happen to me?" I'd try to pinpoint the exact moment that things went bad, thinking if I could just nail that down, everything would make sense. That was the hardest part, the utter shock that I had let this happen to me, that I could be so blind.

After I got over that stage, (I never did find that moment), once the rawness wore off, I started to pick up the pieces. I worked at finding the perfect balance between loving my son, being the best mom ever to him, and taking care of myself and other things I love. Slowly, I've figured out ways to navigate life as a single mother. And I’ve met other wonderful single moms who have redefined what it means to be a single parent. We're educated. We work. We pay our bill. We take care of our kid(s). We date. We have fun. According to the US Census Bureau, this is what single mothers really look like:

• 44 percent are divorced or separated

• 79 percent of single mothers work full time

• 72 percent of single mothers live well above the poverty level

• 69 percent of single mothers do not receive public assistance

• 68 percent of single mothers are over 30 years old

My daughter's best friend's mother (got that?) is getting remarried. The young lady, we'll call her Molly, is quite unhappy about it and has spoken to me about it seeking support and comfort. This is tricky.

I've told Molly that though she disapproves of her mother's choice, the man does make her mother happy and her mother does deserve love. Molly does not disagree with me about this but tells me that the man is inappropriate with her mother when she is around, touching and fondling her mother, she says.

The groom-to-be has five children from his previous marriage(s), and though his children are with their mother(s) most of the time, summer vacations and holidays and every other weekend, this will be quite a blended household.

She is concerned because they will eventually sell their home, and she and her sixteen year old sister will be moving into another man's house and will be constantly interacting and living with five other children.

Wow. What can I say to this?

Blended families are kind of like mixing different recipes together. The result will not be one or the other but some kind of new creation. Whether or not this new creation turns into something that everyone can learn to live and hopefully be happy with is the responsibility of both of the adults.

Unfortunately, in this case, the man is feeling a bit threatened by the step-family's attitude, and he doesn't seem to want to do anything to encourage faith and trust for Molly and her sister. The bride to be is feeling protective of her marital choice and defensive when it comes to her family's feelings about her upcoming nuptials.

Consequently, no one is doing anything to make this better. If I knew the woman and man better, I would recommend family counseling, but I'm pretty sure that my advice would not be welcome.

You can tell Roxie feels change coming by the crazy way she's been acting.

It started in Arizona last week, but I just chalked it up to the over-tired, over-stimulated chaos of travel. She started having the kind of meltdowns I haven't seen from her since I Sam and split our household in two.

She bit her cousin in the swimming pool at the end of a long day. Biting was her thing for a while, but it's been a couple years since she last bared her teeth.

Her behavior has reverted, though. She's had a rough week. In school Thursday when I was visiting for family day her best friend looked at me and asked, "Why is Roxie acting that way?"

"That way" being out of control, dumping other kids stuff on the floor and laughing.

None of the 16 kindergarteners have seen this side of my baby.

It's been long gone, packed away when we moved.

Thing is, she's super sensitive, she feels every minor shift — and what I think she felt in Phoenix was Daddy wasn't there. Daddy wasn't there and the energy surrounding his absence had little to do with the high cost of tickets.

This kid, I know she could feel my conflict every time I said Sam and I have been scoping out rentals. Would hear the thoughts under my words saying something else.

Saying I don't think we'll be back together by the end of the summer, I think we'll be all the way apart.

This is dragging on too long. For everyone. I need to be all the out or all the way in by the time she starts first grade. Sam needs a direction. He deserves it.

Sometimes I hate myself for keeping everyone in waiting. Sometimes I wish I could close my eyes and make this all disappear. Wake up two years in the future, lessons learned with out having to live through them.

I don't waste much time feeling sorry for myself anymore. Not usually.

That path goes the wrong direction, a downward spiral. Self-pity is the opposite of gratitude and learning gratitude has been a challenge but I'm there. Most days.

Not today. I'm sitting in a big leather chair in my brother's new house, boxes all around, and I don't want to get on a plane and fly back to my life tomorrow. I've been in Arizona a week, which is usually about four days too long, but I think about going home tomorrow. I'm wiping tears with my sleeves. Rubbing my eyelids dry with my forefingers.

Most days I accept my best for what it is. I believe in self acceptance lies the openness to achieve and grow and cultivate gratitude. Know that I'm good enough.

My brother and his partner have an outdoor fireplace that looks like it should be a fountain. It's a long, narrow basin filled with blue glass chunks. The wall behind it is white tile, so you'd think water should cascade down it into the glass. But under the glass, in a layer of sand you don't see, there's a gas pipe. Turn it on, light and flame burns on the glass.

Their dining room chandelier is from Holland. They saw it in a window last winter and had to have it, Googled compulsively until they found it. The soap dispenser by the kitchen sink is motion activated, put your hand under and the gel drips out.

My brother and his partner have offered to pay for all the vision therapy Roxie needs to "train her eyes to keep up with her brain." So her hands can do what her eyes can see.

I'm grateful. I have a list of learning differences that have never been addressed. I'm hopeful in the long run this means Roxie won't spend her life struggling to survive, as I do, because of challenges no one can see.

Ah, the bad behavioral patterns that we developed from the time we were a child that followed us into early adulthood, our marriages and our mothering. If you're not careful you will find yourself slipping. And when you're in the moving beyond phase of your divorce, you have to be on the look out for the ghosts of bad behavior from your past.

At 51 I think it's a little late to blame who I am and what I've done, at least in the last decade of two, on my parents. They tried. They did their best. But, it simply wasn't enough. If you're somewhere in my age bracket, then you were raised by the children of the Great Depression. Hell, my mother was born in 1930! Our parents felt that if they clothed, fed and sheltered us, we were good to go. They had no way of knowing how introspective we would all eventually end up becoming.

It's Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs — there are six levels with number one being the most basic, food, clothing and shelter. Six is Self Actualization. Our parents did not have time to consider the meaning of anything outside of paying the mortgage, cooking, working, cleaning. But today, in the throws of the Information Age, we are all searching. Self-help books and DVD sales are at all-time highs.

But, the bottom line is this: We want to love and be loved. However, the exact process to find this Nirvana has eluded us. We're divorcees. Give me a break. Our marriage failed us. We failed our marriage. We walked away for lack of emotional or financial support. We left because of infidelity. We scrambled out barely with our lives in tact.

However, the last thing we need to do is to repeat wrong behavior. If we had become a door mat for our husbands, a "yes" woman, a punching bag — either verbally or physically (me), we need to make sure we're not sliding back into that. Ever.

My parents were always very affectionate when I was growing up. It was almost embarrassing how much they hugged and smooched each other, but there was something cool about it because it was obvious that they really loved each other and enjoyed being around one another.

My husband and I used to be pretty affectionate — after all, that's what I grew up with so it seemed natural — but the worse the issues in our marriage became, the less affectionate we became. You would be hard pressed to see us holding hands or embracing each other for longer than a standard, "Hi, welcome home from work" hug. We're so distant from each other that showing affection seems weird. Sometimes, I just don't want him to touch me.

What is this conveying to my kids? I know people say that a separation would damage my kids, but what potential damage are we doing by staying together?

We don't scream at each other, but we don't portray a married couple who necessarily enjoys being around each other. I don't want my kids to get the impression that this is what a marriage is supposed to be like. I know that the example my husband and I set right now will have a lasting impression on our kids forever. I'm really trying to not screw this all up.

Those inappropriate things I took out of Roxie and Lila's suitcase last week when we were packing for Phoenix? All the long sleeve dresses and pants they wouldn't need in the desert...

It's a good thing my mom bought each of the girls a new raincoat for next fall; they've gotten great use covering sundresses in the 60-something Arizona rain this week.

Turns out my niece's outdoor graduation ceremony was a high school football packed with families huddles close under blankets, tilting umbrellas to block the sideways rain. There was more hot chocolate than cold water.

Turns out we could have used the long sleeves and then some.

Turns out, as usual, kids know a lot more about what they are doing than we think.

They always know, the little psychics. My girls mirror back feelings before I'm even aware I'm having them.

It's amazing what people can tune in to before their brains are cluttered with the day to day static of grocery lists, work projects, and endless to-do lists.

I'm not saying the random winter clothes my 3-year-old packed was fortune telling; I chalk that up to coincidence.

But other things, like the state of their families — our small kids know way more than we think.

Doesn't matter what you say or don't say, how carefully you chose words when talking to your husband, or how you try to stage the state of your marriage.

They pick-up the truth beneath the veneer. Might as well be a picture window.

They see everything. And, for all the time I spent trying to hide the problems in my marriage, my kids have been much happier and visibly better adjusted since I left.

Now that I know they see, I'm not trying to hide anything. 


What would you do if your ex called you and revealed all of his personal problems to you? What would you do if the ex in question was an ex like Levi? An ex that not only treated you like crap, but your son as well?

This is the place I suddenly find myself.

In a weird, out-of-the-blue phone call, Levi revealed to me all of his personal problems. And boy, oh boy, does he have a big one. I'm not going to go into all of the details just yet but I will say that he was recently diagnosed with a serious medical issue. Now he wants my sympathy. Now he wants my compassion.

Do you see why I wrote about my father earlier this week?

I'm trying to figure out why I even discussed this with him. Why I didn't just say, "It's not my problem," and hang up on him, as he would surely do to me. I must admit, though, that I was rather pleased with the fact that for once, we were not screaming at each other.

I cannot believe that at this very moment, I am sitting here trying to figure out ways to help him.

And this is how it goes. Every time I feel myself breaking away from him, I find myself being reeled back in.

I think right now, I have to adopt some of Levi's selfishness. I think that I'll be capable of sympathizing with Levi, on some human level; but I don't think it's my job to be his sounding board, or even to help him.

I've never been an "eye for an eye" type of girl, but man, I hope this will open up his eyes.