Category: mom of boys

Single Mom Mother’s Day
mom of boys

Single Mom Mother’s Day

lesbehonest20171 Comment

I’ve taken on a few things lately because I felt like I needed to give back in some bigger ways. I’m in training with the Trevor Project to be a volunteer crisis counselor with their organization. It’s ten weeks, over forty hours, and honestly I am learning a lot even though I already work in mental health.

Crisis counseling is a different ball game, and I have to turn my psych NP brain off in some ways. The approach is very different than a long term medication management or therapy intake. The training is also the only training I’ve ever taken that is ALL Queer focused. It’s pretty amazing. It’s also disheartening to think back on all the trainings I have attended and how hetero-cis-centric they were.

When my training is complete I’ll volunteer for three hours a week on their chat/text line. It’s a crisis line targeting LGBTQ+ youth ages 12-24, but they will talk to anyone of any age. I completed a few hours of training on Mother’s Day and really reflected on all the LGBTQ+ people I have treated and known already in my life who needed a space outside their own Mom to be safe.

I was watching a Roseanne episode and Jackie is celebrating breaking up with her baby daddy, she says to the baby and to Roseanne, “I get to do what I want, dress him the way I want, and if he turns out gay I’ll just march in those parades with him won’t I?” It’s a funny moment in the show, but as a Queer person who has treated so many Queer people disowned by their Moms…it was quite poignant.

Mother’s Day is such a loaded holiday for the populations I treat. Postpartum and perinatal mental health brings many Moms who have suffered pregnancy loss across my doorstep. As well as moms who struggled adjusting to motherhood and who may have resentment and shame and guilt about their entry into this lifelong role. Then my Queer folks who have suffered their own Mom’s disowning them due to archaic and hateful belief systems they feel bound to uphold at the cost of their own child.

Then there is the every day person who may have had a shitty childhood in their eyes. There are so many ways a Mom can fail, trust me, I’ve heard about many many of them over the years in my work. The basics- emotional, physical and/or financial abuse and neglect but damage can be less overt, more insidious, longer or shorter term. The Mother-Child relationship is possibly the most complicated relationship in all of human relationships. Google says it’s marriage. But if we take out non-familial relationships, I’m betting on mom-child.

For me Mother’s day is a struggle because I am a single mom, and I never planned on being a single mom. It’s the right path for me for sure, but it doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings about my motherhood journey as it stands now. Single moms of seven year old twin boys do not really get to enjoy Mother’s Day as in there is no breakfast in bed or anything else requiring a second adult. It’s still just another day, sort of all about these ego-centric little kids. But then if I don’t see them on Mother’s Day I’m sad and I want to see them. But Sunday is my one day that they go with my ex, so then I give up my one day to go grocery shopping and do laundry.

I know, first world problems. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful, so grateful to be a Mom. I worked hard as hell to have those boys. But I am still allowed to grieve the loss of the family I envisioned. Mother’s Day since divorce has been a puzzle for me to try and piece together. Mother’s Day nine years into outpatient mental health, and I’d be blind and deaf if I didn’t realize it’s incredibly complicated for so many others.

To every one mourning the loss of your vision of Motherhood this Mother’s Day, I see you. Take care of yourself. Find something that brings you joy after you sift through your grief. To everyone single-mom-ing it this Mother’s Day- I am you! Give yourself precious moments to reflect on your journey as it stands and feel whatever feelings that brings- pain, relief, joy, grief, resentment, anger, love- feel it all. Then get back out there kicking ass. Because there is no person stronger/braver/more resilient than a single Mom.

Parenting Win & Dad’s Death Anniversary
mom of boys

Parenting Win & Dad’s Death Anniversary

lesbehonest20171 Comment

One of my sons brought home a note from the office today. This would not be the first time I’ve received communication from the office. When they started kindergarten I had to rapidly adjust my expectations around office and teacher communications. See, I was used to me. I was always smart and I loved learning. I also was incredibly obedient. Well, not always, like if I thought a teacher was inappropriate or mean or discriminatory…then I was a total ass. But I felt in a very self righteous way that I was justified in my asshole-ness. Still sorta do. It was rare. But it happened.

I also was not always “good” but I never got caught. I mean for the big stuff. I flew under the radar with my rebellious stuff. My sons are smart, however they did not get the obedient, quiet, fly under the radar gene. One of them is actually super obedient…but when he does do something wrong he tells on himself. My other one is not obedient and has that self righteous attitude that he is right…all the time. He is essentially my mini-me but he’s me on steroids.

Long story short…I’ve gotten my fair share of office communication since month one of kindergarten.

So today, as they walked in with a note from the office I steeled myself for whatever was about to happen. But then I read it. It was a “Positive Office Referral”. It then listed his positive qualities with a hand written note from his teacher about how incredible he is. It was signed by the principal (who I have spoken to multiple times) and apparently his name was announced in the announcements as being a stand-up kid. You could have pushed me over with a feather.

It’s not that I don’t know my kids are great kids. I know they are. They are sweet and kind and sensitive…but they are also twin boys with minimal self regulation. And you ever just need a win? March sucked. It was long, cold, my clients were a mess, and I had epic work stress. There was also parent teacher conferences in addition to two other discussions about behaviors. I needed a win. That 8×11″ white pre-printed certificate is getting freaking framed. Because I have accepted this may be the first and last time I get a love note from their principal.

This parenting thing is tough. I send these two kids out in the world every day just hoping they will keep it together, keep their hands off other kids and each other, be kind, not get hurt, not get shot, and grow into decent young men. I receive a lot of negative feedback as a single parent from society. It’s a lot easier to address the intermittent negatives than the many frequent positives. It was a reminder that I am doing a good job. That these kids are good kids. It was a win. In single parenting it feels like the wins are few and far between. So it felt good.

It also happened on the eve of my Dad’s fourth death anniversary. It was four years ago tomorrow that I watched my three year old sons run around his yard as he took in his last hours on earth. One of my sons came in a left a purple flower on his hand at one point. My Dad waited until everyone left except my mom and I, and I gave him what would be his last dose of pain meds (home hospice), and I whispered, “It’s okay dad, you can go, we’ll be okay.” He died about ten minutes later. I thought of that today when I was hugging my son. I told my dad we’d be okay. Some days it hasn’t felt okay. Some days have felt fucking horrible. But as we move further past his death, and further into the lives of my kids, it feels more okay.

Since he died I got divorced, grew a practice, got a dog, made new friends, moved on from some old friends, and every time I do something I think about him. I think what would Dad say about this? Wouldn’t Dad laugh at this? I started quilting and I thought my Dad would be all over this; he would have helped me cut out all the squares. He’d love my dog. And he’d be totally into my sons. Everything about them.

My Dad drove me nuts in a lot of ways. It wasn’t all sunshine and roses. But what I’m learning as the parent now is that my kids should have hard times with me. There should be consequences for bad behavior and there should be difficult memories along with the happy ones. Because it’s the hard times that make the good times so sweet. It’s how we recover from hard that matters.

I’m four years into the awful club of people who have lost a parent. It feels like I have paid my dues and come to a level of acceptance. The grief is less intense and less frequent. But it’s still a shitty club.

So here’s to you Dad. We are okay. And even on days we aren’t…I know we will be. I still wish you were here and I’d give just about anything for one more hug, one more conversation and one more random piece of information that you likely just made up. I remember walking on the beach with you when I was 23, and I asked you why you never talked about Vietnam. You said, “Oh, that was before. Before you and your Mom and your sister. You guys are my life now. That was then. You guys are all that matters.” At the time I was disappointed. I wanted to know more. But now I get it. And I’m grateful that we were your everything.

Single mom life with twin boys: Overnight Illness
mom of boys

Single mom life with twin boys: Overnight Illness

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Most parents I know are over this Winter and it’s many illnesses. I am one of them. We’ve had the flu- actual flu- and a couple bouts of stomach bugs. It never runs concurrently. Always consecutively. So as the single parent with one after the other illnesses…unfun.

I realized I reached my max when I woke up to a chunk of my bathroom cut out. I thought, “What the hell happened?” then the fuzzy memory of 1 AM entered my hazy and tired and brain.

We had been on play dates on Friday. We got home late and my sons are extra dramatic on Fridays because it’s the end of the week and they are tired. I was feeling pretty pumped about the playdates because one of them I actually got to drop the boys off and leave! It’s a family I’ve gotten to know well, and we’ve hung out a bunch, and I magically had two hours free on a Friday evening. I drove home with visions of happy hour and fun…in reality I played with my dog, cleaned my kitchen, and caught the first half of a new murder doc on Peacock. Yes. That’s where I’m at age 38 when I snatch two hours free.

I wrangled the boys to bed and stayed up too late finishing the murder documentary. We were scheduled for a playdate the following day which they were very excited about. This was also day seven since son number 1 got the stomach bug. I was so naive. So innocent. Thinking I was in the clear with son number 2.

I woke to son number 2 screaming and running down the hallway to my room. At 1 AM. Once I realized no one was dying and his stomach hurt I walked him into my bathroom and we sat on the floor because he was now insisting he was not going to puke. But I was still waking up and very confused by the screaming and not puking stomach ache.

He’s also crying and tells me his long sad story. He woke up and also woke up his brother, and “I asked him to go get you Mama, and he wouldn’t! He said No! He told me to go back to sleep because if I’m sick we can’t go on the playdate.” As he finished that sentence he puked. A lot. On the bathroom rug. In between heaves he was hitching his breath, crying, saying, “But I want to go on the playdate,”

I’m not the best without sleep. I’m not the best when I’m woken up from sleep. So I was still back on the screams that woke me up, why did he have to scream like that? My heart was still racing and my adrenaline was pumping. I rubbed his back and waited for the puking to stop. I also was thinking about our new carpet in my room and the hallway. I didn’t want to risk puke on the new carpet. This all makes me sound like a horrible mom because I was definitely more focused on the screaming and the carpet then on my puking son.

When he stopped he stood up, and asked to take a shower. Good, yes, into my shower he went. There was a lot of puke. I could not fathom dealing with it. I also did not want him leaving my bathroom and puking on the carpet. My bathroom is freakishly large- like as big as their bedroom- so I went and got his sleeping bag and pillow, and the meat scissors from downstairs and a garbage bag.

In these moments there was no future thinking. There was only survival and the quickest way to get him back to sleep and ultimately me back to sleep.

When I walked into their room to get the sleeping bag his brother rolled over and muttered, “Did he puke?” “Yes” “Well I can still go on the playdate!” then he rolled back over and fell asleep.

I used the meat scissors to cut the area rug in the bathroom. I cut the puked on area off. Put it in the trash bag. Lysol wiped and sprayed the entire area. Laid out the sleeping bag on the rug with a puke bowl, and now clean boy crawled in and fell asleep instantly. He actually told me he was happy he could sleep there so he would be close to the toilet. Not that he ever puked into the toilet. But he had good intentions.

He and I were both exhausted the next morning. And both boys were fixated the canceled playdate. All. Day. Until I rescheduled for next week and we have now been counting down to our make-up playdate. Cross your fingers. Everyone stay healthy.

The rug looks like some one took a bite out of it. I pondered my frame of mind as I was reflecting on my 1 AM decision to cut the puke part out of the rug. I tried to make sense of this decision. I think it made a lot of sense around 1 AM when I wanted to get back into bed, did not want to spend two hours cleaning a rug, and definitely did not want to touch the stinky puke. Then I remembered about him asking his brother for help and his brother refusing!

I went and confronted the brother. So he asked you for help and you said no? That was not nice. Please do not do that again. He shrugged, “But the playdate.”

This. Is. 7.

The Rug

Emotional Intelligence & Sons of Single Moms. (It’s me. I’m the single mom)
lesbian mom · mom of boys

Emotional Intelligence & Sons of Single Moms. (It’s me. I’m the single mom)

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There are so many times a day where I think to myself what am I doing as a parent? Being a single mom has put my parenting into sharp perspective. I can’t help but examine, question, and judge my parenting because I have my sons most of the time so it feels like everything about them is a direct result of me.

There are studies (because obviously I have poured through academic journals searching for data on single mom families) that show children of single parents- specifically sons- have higher emotional intelligence than sons of married parents. I’ve wondered about this finding before being a single parent but now I get it. Let’s take a few weeks ago, for example. It’s sucked. It started sucky and ended worse. Crisis after crisis with my clients. Significant illnesses and life events occurring.

I was in contact with seven therapists about seven different clients before Tuesday end of day. It didn’t get better on Wednesday or Thursday. Hospitalizations and other high acuity referrals. I spent karate class on Thursday outside on the phone with yet another therapist about another client and had to make a rather gut wrenching decision in that moment.

Then I had to bring my kids home, chart some more, make more phone calls, then also make dinner and sit with them at the table. When they came into the kitchen they asked if I was okay. And honestly I wasn’t. I was sad, defeated, and if I had a partner it would have been my tap out moment. I would have tapped out and gone to the store or a yoga class or anywhere but staring into my kids eyes as their only source of everything.

I felt my eyes well up and I blinked back tears and said, “I’m actually having a really hard week baby, and I’m really sorry if I’m sad right now I just treat a lot of patients and sometimes they can be more sick and need more of my energy. And that’s how this week has been.” They looked at me and then murmured some I love you’s and then one of them offered to bring the dog out for me and I said sure and thank you.

I put dinner together under their watching eyes and they set the table, and when I asked who would feed the cats they didn’t fight about it…like they do every other time. And when I went to sit down one of them came and hugged me and said he loves me and he’s sorry I’m having a bad week. I smiled and told him I was having a great week with my sons. It’s just work this week that’s been bad.

You see there is no way sons and daughters of single Moms can avoid seeing their parent be emotionally vulnerable. We do not get to hide it. We do not have a tap out option. We still have to be present and if we are going to be present and stressed I have to explain that it’s not them I’m stressed with; that it’s something else. Being a single mom is really shitty in those moments but it’s also very powerful. I am incredibly private, in my line of work especially it’s legally required to keep it private, but I have been forced to open up about some of the emotional toll it takes on me to my sons because they spend so much time with me and only me.

I’ve had to explain that I need to do a yoga on IFit tonight because I just need to clear my head because I’m having a hard day. I’ve had to explain why I’m still working after 6 some nights because one of my patients is sick and I have to help them. I’ve had to apologize some times for maybe an irritable reply and go and tell them that was not about you that was about me being overwhelmed right now and you busting into my home office asking me to settle a fight between you and your brother which was poor timing and a poor response by me.

Being a single mom has forced me to do better at apologizing. It’s forced me to do better at taking space and taking even five minutes for self care. It’s forced me to set better boundaries around my working hours and around my clients expectations of my availability. But it’s mental health and I own the practice. Sometimes there are crises and I have to deal with them during family time. I do keep dinner time sacred. No phone, no laptop, no distractions. Sometimes that means we eat late.

Recently one of my clients was telling me how they wanted to stop caring about their work because then it wouldn’t hurt so much. I told them that’s what makes them good at what they do- their compassion. I try and tell myself that. It’s because I care about my clients that weeks like this with this level of illness and crises and decisions guts me. But that’s why I still love what I do. Because I do care. That’s why clients have stuck with me now for close to ten years. Because they know I care. Deeply.

If I’m teaching my sons anything I’m hoping it’s that it’s okay to let others know how you are feeling. It’s okay to feel sad and hurt because of external stressors. It’s also okay to take responsibility for your actions and link them to feelings. I’m hoping they learn what it feels like to be nurtured and then to also nurture in return. The only way to teach emotional intelligence is through example. I’m hoping my example is enough. I’m hoping I don’t lean on them to hold my emotions. And I hope they are learning a solid work ethic and approaching work with passion and compassion.

But if I tried to read this to them or discuss this in any way they would probably both fart and laugh. Which I guess is also reflective of normal 7 year old behavior which is a good thing. And last night when I had banned screens for some behavior we played Trouble and laughed and after the 45 minute game…yes 45 minutes…one of them looked at me and said, “I had so much fun tonight Mama. I love you.”

“I Used to Have Fun…” A Mom’s nostalgia.
lesbian mom · mom of boys

“I Used to Have Fun…” A Mom’s nostalgia.

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There’s this scene in Mamma Mia where Meryl Streep looks wistfully at the sky in her overalls as she wanders around doing repairs and paying bills and says nostalgically, “I used to have fun…”. The context being her 20 year old daughter is there with her friends and they are having fun.

When I first saw Mamma Mia I was 23 and…I was having fun. Honestly I started having fun when I was fourteen. I partied hard in high school. I actually partied less in college than high school…not to say that I didn’t party though. Then my 20’s, well the first half of them, was freaking phenomenal.

I know this sounds bad coming from a mental health professional- but in this post I’m just a woman. And I don’t regret one freaking hangover or bar fight or spontaneous dance on a stage with two gay boys who totally choreographed with me in my hat…because I had a good freaking time.

Then my 30’s came along and boom. Kids. Dad died. Divorce. Kids. Work. Kids. Work. It became super un-fun. Okay well still fun, in very different ways.

My 20’s were filled with pee your pants laughter. And not because I had a weak bladder due to carrying twins. But because the shit I got into was that hilarious. Especially when we filmed it. Which we did. Often.

I still don’t regret any of it. I don’t regret falling on my butt in an icy parking lot in front of about 100 people on my birthday after drinking prosecco with some of my best friends at the time and then sliding on my stomach over to my friends car because I was too scared to try walking again. I don’t regret filming me and another nurse in the bathroom at a staff Christmas party doing…well things…and then going out to show literally every one at the party…I don’t regret the many times I went skinny dipping-everywhere I could-, and the dancing. All the dancing. OH and even that time I fell down the stairs, didn’t drop my drink, and then yelled “Lesbian sex is awesome” in the middle of the gay bar.

I don’t regret the five years of attending the “herbal conference” in New Hampshire where we brought tents, danced around a fire, ran through the woods and the lake and “studied herbs”. We were told repeatedly we could not dance or swim naked. That place was wild.

Right now my life has less raucous fun. And it has less people in it who I had that fun with. Which sucks. But se la vie right? People move. Friendships change.

There is fun and laughter now but different fun and laughter than in my 20’s and I am damn glad I had my 20’s to make me into the somewhat serious 38 year old whose eyes twinkle with restrained laughter when my 20’s clients tell me about their hijinks. Because internally I’m like…I got you beat.

And that pee in your pants fall on your butt dance on the stage 20 something is still in me. Waiting to re-emerge when I’m through this serious Mama phase.

When I first saw Mamma Mia I remember identifying more with 20 year old Amanda Seyfried. Falling in love. My future ahead of me. But now at 38, I saw Meryl Streep say that line and I was like damn. I feel that. When did I become the parent in all these movies of my youth? Age 30 and 11 months. That’s when.

I spend my days treating the mentally ill and supervising employees. I spend my afternoons, evenings, and weekends parenting two seven year old boys. Not a lot of time for raucous fun. I spend it dealing with school about whichever boy is not listening this week or acting up on the bus or presenting at the assembly. I chauffeur to karate and basketball. I became this Mom Boss lady and while I love the confidence and not give a fuck attitude that my 30’s brought I can’t help but every so often stopping in the midst of a moment with the boys and thinking wistfully to the Summer fling when I was 22 that led to an embarrassing I don’t remember you moment when he moved in with a friend…or the Halloween parties, or, well everything wrapped up in that moment “I used to have fun….” because yeah Meryl. I feel that. Hard.

There was also a stripper.

And sharp-ied mustaches.

I think the dancing on stage with the gay boys was the best though. I think they were actually getting paid to be there and I sorta hopped up with them and we all gelled so the club people let me stay. It. Was. Amazing.

Halloween NYU. Epic.

Parenting Twin Seven Year Olds…The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (and basket-ball).
Divorce and Separation · mom of boys

Parenting Twin Seven Year Olds…The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (and basket-ball).

lesbehonest2017Leave a comment

Parenting.

When the boys were five months old I remember sort of stumbling into morning rounds a couple minutes late and the Attending looking annoyed as he continued through the patient list. I mentally replayed my morning up to that moment at 8:35 AM.

I was up from midnight to 2 AM nursing both boys. Then I was up at 4 AM. For good. Nursing them. My ex left the house at 6 AM and there I was. Trying to get ready for work, making myself look human, while also getting two babies dressed, fed, and out the door. I remember it started raining just as I opened one of the back passenger doors in the daycare parking lot. I carried the two car seats with two five month olds, and stood in the rain as I buzzed the daycare door to let me in.

Those were some damn hard days and nights. But in some ways they were easier than the parenting I do now a days with two seven year olds.

These boys, man. On the way to basketball on Saturday. We had already had a morning. Because there was a lot of not listening that occurred so I was heightened in terms of my ability to tolerate any further nonsense from them. There I am. Driving on a main road and the seatbelt light flashes and I yell the offending child’s name. “Dude, seatbelt!” “But I dropped my Nintendo Switch!” “Well grab it and put your seatbelt on” … seconds go by. The car starts doing that obnoxious ‘You don’t have your seatbelt on’ beep and I’m like “What is taking so long?!” And then I hear some talking back in the form of under the breath muttering and he’s thinking he’s slick, and I’m just done.

I pulled over to the side of the road. It’s a narrow main road with not much of a shoulder. So I basically took up half the road. I stopped. Put my flashers on, and dared any drivers behind me to come mess with me. I turned around to face my children and waited in silence as he finally got his seatbelt on. I put my hand out for the stupid Switch and then tossed it on the seat next to me. Waited for the cars to pass and then pulled out to resume our journey.

He leans over to watch his brother on his brother’s Switch. I hear the critique start. Because brother without the Switch feels he knows how to play better than brother with the Switch. There is some bickering and then brother without the switch and the seatbelt offender says, “What the fuck?!” He did use it appropriately in context as he questioned his brother’s move which did lead to his brother’s death in the Switch game.

I pulled over again. Turned around and talked about appropriate language, and he was apologizing, and then we are on the road again. I’m not sure he was actually sorry, I think he just wanted me to start driving again.

We make it to basket-ball miraculously all in one piece. Basketball is a ten minute drive from my house. This was ten minutes of my life with twin seven year old boys.

Today I spent the morning trying to decipher the $8.25 charge on one of the boys accounts at school. The boys bring their lunches and eat breakfast at home. There should be a .75 cent charge for the ONE chocolate milk I was asked if he could purchase last week. I look closely and discover not one chocolate milk charge but 11. The boy had chocolate milk eleven of the last twelve school days.

When I talk to him in the afternoon he looks exhausted before we even start, and I ask what’s wrong and he says he had a hard day because a girl made fun of him, and called him a name “lots of times” and he asked her to stop and she wouldn’t. Then he’s crying. So we process another kid being mean, and then I still need to talk to him about lying about the chocolate milk. Which I do. He feels bad. He feels worse when he realizes he’s going to be paying the $8.25 for all the chocolate milks. He feels even worse when I tell him that on top of paying he is going to be doing firewood runs with me every morning this week.

I’m not trying to kick him when he’s down, but he still has to own the lying about the chocolate milk. There was no yelling. It was a calm discussion with hugs. But damn that was a rough fifteen minutes of my parenting day.

So that’s what I mean when I think back to when they were 5 months and my worst problem was carrying two babies, nursing two babies, and trying to stay awake for work…because now adays I have these two people. Two people who say things like What the fuck?! Two people who lie. Two people who hit each other and pick their noses. Two people who feel such big feelings and who look to me to contain them, hold them, and love them.

This Saturday at basket-ball, there was the whole countdown at the end of the game and the crowd joined in and my What the Fuck son got the ball and dribbled down toward his basket, and we were at the “THREE TWO…” and he threw that ball up there and nailed the shot right at ONE. The crowd went wild and his teammates, including his brother were grinning ear to ear and slapping his hand and back, and he shoved his hands in his pockets, turned and walked away from his basket like he was just going for a stroll, and he tilted his little head over toward me and made eye contact and I smiled and clapped and he did a little smile and kept walking.

It’s those moments that I live for. When my kid looks for me because he wants me to be watching. For all the parents missing those moments- you’re missing out. Because even in the worst and hardest moments of parenting, it’s those moments when you know they want you to be here, by a little side eye and a smile, and if you’re absent you’re missing it. And I wouldn’t miss the What the Fucks?! Just like I wouldn’t miss the heroic buzzer shot. I want to be there for it all.

And I want my kids to want me there. Because that’s one of those warm gooey feelings that lacks definition. As a parent you want your kids to want you around and those moments when you can see that they do…are few and precious and keep me going through those horrific ten minute car rides.

Christmas Without Christ
mom of boys

Christmas Without Christ

lesbehonest20171 Comment

I grew up going to church. Until I was confirmed and somewhat older and realized there were a lot of holes in this Christianity situation.

My ex was raised in a more conservative and cult orthodox church. So when we had kids, we were both fine with not bringing the boys to church. I did like the community aspect to church and the community support. Growing up we became very close with many members of the church- I in a healthy way, my ex in a cult-like depend on us and only talk to us and no one else ever type of way- but regardless- it provided connections to people.

In terms of the holidays it provided context and some structure and fun events. There was always a kids pageant and then an adult run nativity pageant that was done outside. With real sheep. The sheep got loose one year. My Dad was a Shepard. It was hysterical.

Now I’m raising boys who have never been inside a church. It’s weird. They ask random questions about God and I try and explain and it usually devolves into us getting into a fight about whether God is a man or woman. I had finally sort of explained a genderless concept of the Christian God. Preface to this next bit- I also had explained sperm donors and that you need a piece of a man and a woman to make a baby. Trust me that is important.

Up goes my nativity scene that was handcrafted by my Dad (who died in 2019). I am looking at it rather nostalgically and one of my sons asks who the people are. I start to explain the story of the birth of Christ. It went something like this, “In the Christian religion there is a story of the son of God being born. Christmas is the celebration of the birth of the son of God. Mary, right here, is Jesus’ mom. Then Joseph is his, well, sort of stepdad I guess, and then these are the wise men, they are three kings who travel far to see the birth of Christ, and then here are the shepards with the sheep, and they all meet up in a stable where Mary gives birth…” “But why do they have to have a baby in a barn?” “Well there are many people, bad people, like bad kings, who are threatened by the birth of Christ so they are kind of in hiding, and there is also no room for them anywhere else,” “Bad kings like Donald Trump?” says one of my sons. … “Um, I don’t think I have ever described DT as a bad king…so kind of not like DT, but, okay, so then,” “So Joseph is the dad?” Me- “Well no, Jesus is the son of God.” “But Mama, you told me that God is not a man.” Me- “Correct.” Skeptical eyes regard me, “So if God is not a man and you need a piece of a man to make a baby then who is Jesus’s Dad?” … “Um here’s your stocking. Why don’t we hang up your stocking?”

Apparently Christianity understands how whacked their story is because they prefer to indoctrinate people from birth. Because my kids questions were all totally solid. And honestly, if you’ve read Mathew, Mark, Luke and John, well the whole birth of Christ story is a bit hodgepodge. One linear narrative would have been very helpful. And the whole “The spirt of the lord came upon her” is just not a satisfactory explanation to a seven year old and in fact is kind of creepy post the whole #metoo movement.

I never thought the story of Christ was creepy before I had to explain to a 7 year old boy though. I also never thought I would have to be the one explaining it. I guess I assumed I would raise my kids in a church. I don’t regret not doing it but it makes religious based conversations rather challenging. There are concepts and storylines I just accepted because I was raised from birth hearing them. But when they are being explained for the first time perhaps at age seven…when I’ve spent the first seven years educating them in a very logical, science based, concrete way…well it gets interesting.

I’ve tried comparing God to Santa Claus- not that God is like Santa Claus, but that we believe in Santa and we have faith he exists, and that’s sort of how people feel about God. That we have no evidence He exists but that many people have faith that He does. “But Mama, you said He’s not a boy,” “I did say that yes, I just revert to calling Him ‘He’ sometimes because that’s how it’s referred to in the bible,” “So He’s a boy?” “Well no, He was written about by boys though in a way to subjugate women, so it makes sense that they gave Him a more masculine presentation…” Then they stare at me.

Listen parenting is hard. Explaining the concept of God to an adult let alone to a black and white concrete thinking 7 year old….it’s rough. There is a part of me that feels they are missing out on an experience by not being raised in a church. But it also feels hypocritical to partake in Christianity when I believe it was a religion made for very political purposes and the holidays are clearly based off Pagan holidays and paganism was women driven. I probably should not have attended a religious college because the deeper I studied religion the more skeptical I became.

If my kids grow up and attend church and engage with religion though I will support them 100%. Unless it’s one of the cults. Then I’ll be moderately irritated and likely have to infiltrate the cult in order to produce an expose documentary which will include saving my children from the cult.

In the meantime I do the best I can piecing together the stories of Christianity, interjecting Pagan traditions, and trying to educate myself further on Judaism. Because enter a discussion about Chanukah. “Mama, can we celebrate Chanukah?” “Well we generally don’t because we are not Jewish.” “But we don’t go to church and we celebrate Christmas.” …. Touché my children. Touché. I have a year to study up. I told them it would not mean more presents. They seemed okay with that proclamation and were more focused on wanting to see a menorah lit up.

This year I anonymously ‘adopted’ a family of three children from my town and the boys and I went to Target and overfilled two carts with Christmas presents for the three kids. Throughout the store the boys had to be reminded a couple times that we were there to help a family who needed our help and this was not a shopping trip for them. When the total rang up the boys asked if I would have any money left to get them presents. I told them even if I didn’t they should be grateful that we are helping out a family. They helped me wrap the presents, it took awhile, and a lot of gift bags and tape, and a list of what was in all the bags…and then I got an email there are a few tags left that had not been taken. I brought a check with me to cover at least three more tags along with the presents for the family we shopped for.

I did all of this rather quietly but those boys see all. Flash forward three weeks to this morning, Christmas morning, we finished unwrapping our presents and one of my sons said, “Mama, you know those families we helped, I bet they are happy too. And they don’t even know who we are and we don’t know who they are! That’s so weird.” I smiled, and hugged him, and said, “Weird but good right?” He smiled back and said, “Weird but very good. You helped people and that’s what Christmas is all about; that and being grateful. I’m thankful for my family and it only matters that we are together.” And it’s those moments when I think, you know what? I’m doing okay.

Parent’s Night Post-Covid
#COVID-19 · mom of boys

Parent’s Night Post-Covid

lesbehonest2017Leave a comment

I went to my kids parents night at their school. It was really cute and also weird… post-COVID. For one, I was inside my sons school. We were allowed inside at the very end of last school year, with masks. Tonight was a normal parents night though. No masks. Teachers. Desks. No social distancing. There is still a no food rule, which is fine, but it was just totally normal. In a super NOT normal way.

For two years normal became not socializing. Masks. Fear. Then we are all just supposed to bounce back. It was bizarre.

I sat in my sons desks. I had to go back and forth between two classrooms and two teachers doing the first grade presentations at the same time…which was fun. I recognized other parents, and said hi to them, and we talked about our kids. Without masks. Inside a building. In our kids classrooms.

When I was walking out, I had to park far away, and as I was walking to my car I passed, well almost everyone, but specifically two parents talking who I know- but it’s that kind of know when we are friends but new friends so it’s still kinda awkward or at least I’m still kind of awkward I also didn’t make friends for two years…pandemic…so I’m more awkward than normal…so there I am.

Walking toward my car and I actually think to myself- because they are talking- do I say hi? Do I wave? Do I pretend I don’t see them? Ugh! I can’t pretend I don’t see them. I have to walk within a foot of them. I say “hi guys,” as I approach, and keep walking. They say hi, how are you, and I answer and keep walking and they resume conversation, totally chill, and I’m like why was that so weird? Why did that make me so anxious? I literally just sat with both of them at a kids birthday party last weekend.

Oh yea. I haven’t had to “people” in over two years. That’s why. I’m out of practice. I was never good at “people-ing” pre-pandemic and then take away two years of forced socialization and not just allow but encourage isolation…yeah. I need some practice.

How bizarre though that there is this point in my life where I have to remember how to socialize. I have to retrain my brain to engage with people instead of hide from them. I also sat next to a dad who is as socially awkward as I am. We ran a field day station together in the Spring. I love socially awkward people. We can sit in comfortable silence. We acknowledge one another, hello, how are you, good, great, silence.

So aside from my mind blowing socialization situations I also learned the teachers know my sons. One son is sitting in the back row, furthest from the teacher, and he is there because he is incredibly obedient and I know he can be trusted to be far away from the teacher. My other son…is front row center. I was always a kid that could be back row. Very quiet. Very obedient. My other son- the front row center- not obedient. Pleasant. Polite-ish. But not back row obedient material.

Front row son has a broken arm. It’s been a long horrible week honestly. So today was his first day back to school. And the teacher told me she heard the girl next to him (who I know b/c we went to her bday party last school year) told him today after they got their lunchboxes for snack, “Whatever you need I’m here for you,” and then opened his lunchbox and juice box straw for him. Melt my damn heart.

I’ve also been told by his teacher he has been doing great and extremely well behaved. I laughed and said, “Keep him in the front. No matter how well behaved he acts for no matter how long.” She smiled and said, “Yeah, I kinda got that vibe.”

So I am learning how to socialize again, and it doesn’t feel bad. Just weird. And terrifying. But not bad.

Of course there was the one parent who asked about lockdown drills and I had to remember mass school shootings are a thing; even though I had already scoped out the room and noted two exits and my immediate thought had been if there is ever a shooter they have a way out…totally cool having that thought as a parent of a 6 yr old.

#IlovetheUSA #gunssuck #fucktheNRA

Freedom in Single Parenting
Divorce and Separation · lesbian mom · mom of boys

Freedom in Single Parenting

lesbehonest2017Leave a comment

Being the primary custodial parent of twin boys and owning a business when Roe v. Wade was overturned means I had no time to process it. I read the headline and then entered a telehealth session with a client. I went about my day.

I realized that night I was being somewhat irritable with the boys. I did some self introspection and noted that 1. I had been with them for 13 days straight with no reprieve due to my ex being sick. 2. My normal reprieve is only less than 48 hours a week. 3. I was actually really upset about Roe v. Wade and was unable to verbalize that to any one. Because, well, 6 year olds don’t really care, and being the single parent means very little time having actual adult conversations outside of work.

I eventually waved them off with my illness free ex – where they were going for a pre-planned five nights and six days. This is the longest I’ve not had them since…well since probably ever. It feels amazing. They are coming home tomorrow night and I feel like I have not had enough time.

Then I was thinking that parents who split custody get 5 nights every other week free. I don’t know how I feel about that. I feel like 5 nights once a month or once every other month would be sufficient for me. Because I have had some epic nights. I folded laundry. I went out two nights with friends, came home by 9 pm. I hung out with my dog until after 9 pm outside by the pool.

I was driving home from a dinner date and some one I know called me because they needed help administering their first insulin dose to themself. I stopped over and helped. Because I had nowhere to be. It was this amazing feeling of freedom that I do not remember feeling for so long. I tried not to go down the rabbit hole of resentment knowing my ex has this every week. And for the most part I succeeded.

I didn’t have karate and all the laundry to do. I didn’t have lunches, dinners, breakfasts, snacks, fights, mess, and the general chaos of twin life. I am pretty sure if I had not had them for 15 days straight leading up to these five nights I would miss them much more than I do. But I needed the break.

I read every news article I could find about the overturn of Roe. I sat in those feelings of anger, fear, grief, and pain. I donated to Planned Parenthood. I enrolled to become a crisis line worker volunteer for an abortion hotline.

I worked. I did paperwork. I worked out on the treadmill. I swam whenever I felt like it. And I didn’t feel the overwhelming, constant, all engulfing, stress of single parenting. I sat by the pool and read. I actually read a book without staying up all night or sacrificing any of my sleep time to do so.

I love my sons. And I do not regret getting a divorce or being the primary caretaker. I am allowed to feel overwhelmed, scared, sad, and unable to engage in anything else but surviving as a Mom.

I’ve seen judgement in other people’s responses to me since becoming a single parent- when I decline invites or cancel plans- and I’ve had to cut people out who are not a part of my day to day. Not intentionally; it just happens naturally because I’m consumed with making it through each day.

To have five nights and remember that I am this person with thoughts and feelings outside of survival mode has been relieving, bittersweet, and illuminating.

There is a part of me that is so angered by all the states who voted for Trump that I think they are getting what they deserve, what they wanted- mostly all the states that voted for Trump have abortion bans. There is a small bitter part of me saying isn’t this what you wanted? Isn’t this what you asked for when you voted him in?

There is another small part of me that is deeply enraged with the Democratic party. Because seriously. Fuck you. You didn’t think Brett Kavanaugh was lying? He lied about being a rapist…I’m unclear why he wouldn’t lie about literally everything else. Where is their outrage? Where is their plan? And how the hell do they not have a plan when this was clearly coming?

The Biden administration is possibly the biggest disappointment of my life. At least I expected Trump to suck- and he sucked for me personally- but he did manage to get a lot done for the Republican party. Unlike his successor.

The pool, the book, and the dog have been great. My 5 nights free of parenthood have been epic. Freedom tastes good. Which is funny because it’s during a time that my freedom as a woman and a Queer person feels like it is slipping away.

The Dog & the Pool
lesbian mom · mom of boys

The Dog & the Pool

lesbehonest2017Leave a comment

There’s a lot I could comment on. War. School shootings a.k.a. mass murders of children by children with guns they should never have. Abortion. The politicization of the Supreme Court by the Republicans. How masks are traumatizing enough for children to fuel a movement of protests and legislative action but apparently AR-15’s are not. But honestly if I sit with any of those I will be on a tall soapbox for hours fueling a deep rage toward this society.

So I’ll keep that all inside.

I’ve said it before. I’ll say it again. My life could be a reality show.

My dog hates the water. She low key growls the entire time if I have to bathe her. It’s a whole thing.

I felt 100% comfortable with her by the pool because she hates water so much. She runs away if the boys splash her.

Well, it’s been a couple weeks now with the pool open. She has a fenced in area attached to the pool area by a gate. I leave the gate open and she has a ball running back and forth between her grassy area and the pool. Today the boys were in the pool, I was clothed- that will matter later.

They helped me put the solar cover on, and then got out. We were all turning to walk up the stairs to the deck and Cheetah leaped into the pool on top of the solar cover. The solar cover is literally heavy duty bubble wrap on top of the water.

Cheetah realized that after two seconds. She managed to leap along it, as I of course yelled at her, because that was helpful, and one of the boys started crying because he thought Cheetah was going to drown. She was not even in the water yet.

I’m swearing because I’m picturing her tearing into my brand new pool liner that got installed not even two weeks ago now.

I start walking into the water in my clothes. Yes in my clothes. She makes it to the edge by the filter and leaps from the sinking solar cover. Lands in the water. Epically panics. Puts both front paws on the cement on the side of the pool, and all I can picture are her two back paws clawing through my brand new liner….and she finds foots in the pool filter and leaps out. She looks utterly drenched and is shaking.

I am dripping. Annoyed. Still unsure if she ripped my new liner. I get out and make my way to her. She low key growls as I drag her inside because she thinks I’m going to give her another bath at the sink- but I drag her to her fenced in area, lecturing her about not jumping in the damn pool, she’s still shaking and growling and now smelling like wet dog. I put her behind her fence (baby-gate that blocks off my office and a weird hallway area off my kitchen) and tell her she’s staying there as long as she’s wet.

The boys are inside now also dripping all over. I change into my swimsuit because I have to go investigate the liner further with goggles. Amen for a pool heater.

It’s about 7 PM on a Tuesday and I’m underwater running my hands and eyes over my pool liner. Because of my dog. Who thought the solar cover was solid.

She still hates water. She was pissed she was wet. She let me towel her off repeatedly. And then pouted because I made her lay on a towel on the couch. She hates towels. Literally glared at me.

My sons went and spoke to Cheetah over the fence at one point while I was trying to calm myself. “Cheetah, we still love you, we are just upset with you right now, because you could have torn the liner, and ripped the cover. We still love you though. It’s okay for some one to be mad at your behaviors it doesn’t mean we don’t love you.”

Then I’m cracking up. Because apparently my sons hear me. When I’m mad or upset at their behavior and I tell them I’m allowed to feel my feelings just like they are allowed to feel theirs. It doesn’t mean I don’t love them. I can dislike some one’s behavior and still love them. I’ve said that a lot. Clearly.

So I have to re-evaluate the dog in the pool area. Well at least when there’s a cover on the pool. Though I don’t think there will be a repeat performance honestly. I couldn’t tell who was more irritated/upset/traumatized…her or me. She hated everything about being wet. And now she knows. Solar cover does not equal solid.

She’s currently passed out on the beach towel avoiding all eye contact with me because she hates the beach towel.

The boys are in bed. My hair is wet. And when the adrenaline wears off I’m sure I’ll laugh about that moment as she hit the solar cover and realized it was not solid. And my wading through the water in my clothes yelling at the damn dog, and my boys in all their innocence explaining emotional intelligence to a dog.

Title photo- Annoyed, damp, Cheetah on beach towel avoiding eye contact.