Tag: parenting

Bear Piles.
Divorce and Separation · mom of boys

Bear Piles.

lesbehonest2017Leave a comment

I live on a main road in a rural area. I honestly thought living on a main road would sort of deter wildlife. And car thefts. While it has deterred car theft…it has not deterred wildlife. Three times now there has been bear poop in the middle of my driveway. If you are not familiar with bears, they are large, therefore their poop is not just little dog poop size it’s literally a pile. In fact the term is actually “bear pile” in reference to their poop. I learned this. Because it’s true. Piles of bear poop. So the first time I was like wow. That’s a big pile. The boys were of course wanting to walk as close as possible and I’m yelling at them to get down to the bottom of the driveway to get on the bus, I come out with a shovel, cursing the bear and it’s pile, and take few shovel trips to get rid of said pile from driveway into pine trees. Now the boys were laughing but simultaneously dry heaving. I don’t think they even knew what dry heaving was. So I’m walking with a shovel of bear shit and yelling at them to turn away so they both don’t start puking.

The bus pulls up. The guy, Neal, who drives the bus. He just kind of waved. He has pulled up many times with me carrying a chainsaw cutting wood. The bear poop shovel was new though. And the boys piled on while laughing and dry heaving.

So after the first time I was like okay. I checked my camera. There was a big freaking opossum strolling around then an hour later the bear. It’s too shadowy and grainy to come out good as a photo, but it’s definitely a bear. Then they both came back. Twice more so far. The opossum always precedes the bear by about an hour. Then the bear, shadowy and in the distance, pooping on my driveway (my driveway is long). So I tell my Aunt the dry heaving story and she’s still laughing about it a month later.

The last time he came, I mean maybe it’s a she bear, but this just seems like a dumbass male thing, sorry, I’m not a huge fan of the male species at the moment, aside from my sons. They are cool. The last time he came he pooped again mid-driveway. The boys run out to the bus stop at the end of the driveway. Then the guy who I’m friends with who owns a tree company pulls up because he’s doing a big job on the pines for me. So I walk out into the crisp Fall morning with my coffee mug and my friend walks up with his coffee, and he’s laughing and goes, “Hey, so there’s bear poop on your driveway down there,” he points. We look. He laughs. “Your kids are playing with the bear poop with sticks.” Me- “Yes. Yes they are.” This was all before 8:30 AM. #singlemomlife #dontneedaman

I put my coffee down. Walked with my shovel. And chased off my kids with their sticks and shoveled up the bear pile. Again.

We definitely have bobcats. I was fine with the bobcats. I was even fine with the massive coyotes that I always try and convince myself are just loose/lost Huskies. Because they keep their poop on the grass. But this bear pooping mid-driveway. That’s gotta go.

Until the tree guy was here, no other adult witnessed this with me. That happens a lot in my life. I work from home mostly, and am a single mom with the kids 80% of the time. Not much room for other adults in my life romantic or non.

I went to a hot yoga class this weekend for the first time in three years. I don’t know why in some ways it took me three years to get back to it. I stopped because of COVID in 2020. But after the divorce I had one day a week where I could have gone. But it was my one day to do, well everything. So it fell out. We recently changed our arrangement, so while I have the boys more I have a longer time consecutively without them. And it felt like I could actually do it going into the third night without them.

I could barely move the next day. But in the moment, in the 96 degree heat, 80% humidity, I felt, amazing. I felt like I could be an anonymous non-single Mom human. When I was there though I found myself remembering the bear piles. The shovel. The boys.

Never in my life did I understand the feeling of complete loneliness while being completely overstimulated with touch and love from my sons until becoming a single Mom. Being a single parent is no joke. I’ve written about it many times. And I’ve treated many clients who are single parents. It’s my life now though and it has been for three years.

I’ve accepted my life as it is. I am grateful for my life and my kids. More than I could possibly describe. But if anything, psychiatry has taught me about dialectics and that includes two opposing ideas being true at the same time. I can be happy, in the moment, and grateful while simultaneously lonely and somewhat grieving a partnered life. Any moment can be bittersweet. Even piles of bear shit.

Single Mom vs. Sexual Harassment
mom of boys · Nursing

Single Mom vs. Sexual Harassment

lesbehonest20173 Comments

I want to preface this with I had a great vacation. You can read about a little bit of it in my previous post here. Earlier today I received a text from a fellow single mom asking if I ever cry alone on the bathroom floor. Yes girl. Yes.

I responded that I absolutely have done this. That this single parent shit is absolutely hard and there are times I have closed my door, closed the bathroom door, and sat on my floor and cried. Followed by lots of banging on doors by little boys wondering where I am. It’s never great.

I said, last week, when I was away I had a moment.

I was in the midst of a great vacation. I mean great. I was enjoying my kids. I was enjoying our time away. Honestly it was a first. Twins are hard. Single parent vacations are really hard. When they were four…I was in Plymouth Mass and one of them got food poisoning and I was up for 24 hours with him vomiting. So that was fun.

They are finally old enough that I enjoy them. There was no food poisoning and I had coverage for the practice. The only thing I have access to that no one else does is the business Facebook page. I receive very few messages there, but I was running an ad, so I was getting more messages than normal. I had set up auto-replies so I really just was doing a cursory look if a message came through and letting the auto-replies do the rest.

One male profile sent an audio message. I, for once in my cynical life, thought naively maybe it’s some one who is blind or has some disability where they have to send audio messages. So I opened it and played it. Standing with my kids in the waterpark. They were supposed to be walking away toward a slide, so I was supposed to have a second to myself.

It was an audio message of a male masturbating or making hypersexualized sounds by himself. It was followed by multiple messages including a phone number, thumbs up, etc.

I put my phone down and tried to walk it off and join my kids in the waterpark.

But I was seriously impacted. Because that’s gross. And it’s in those moments that I feel incredibly alone. I had no one I could share that with. No partner to take the kids for a minute while I compose myself. No one to tell, hey I just heard this nasty sexual audio message and he keeps messaging the business profile, and I don’t know what to do. Fun fact- there’s no way to report a message on FB on a business page.

I also couldn’t block it from my phone. I had to wait until I was signed into my laptop so I kept getting pinged with all his continued messages.

I felt gross. I felt alone. Then I blocked his profile from our business page, and within an hour I get a message from FB that the business page is being shut down temporarily while we are investigated for “violating Meta’s terms and conditions.” So that guy reported us for blocking him. His profile name is David Hill. No picture.

I was dealing with all of this on vacation with my kids.

I called my office manager and let her know not to book any one with that name or the phone number he sent us. But beyond that there was really nothing I could do.

It all just felt shitty and and I felt violated. So you send a sexual audio message and I block you and then my business page gets suspended?! WTAF.

My business page is now active. But it brought up all the helplessness around reviews and social media as a business owner. Google reviews suck ass. Healthcare providers cannot respond to google reviews because of HIPAA but clients can leave incredibly inaccurate reviews when they are pissed because we won’t do what they want. It’s such a messed up system.

That’s how it felt in that moment. Totally helpless and like the perpetrator was winning and I just had to deal with it internally. I needed a minute.

I chose to have kids. I wanted my kids. I never envisioned single parenting and I’m allowed to have feelings about that. I’m allowed to feel somewhat sad about being single. And a parent. I told my single mom friend this. I told her we can sit and cry some times because it’s all a lot. Business ownership is not for the faint of heart and neither is single parenting. I had an amazing vacation with my kids. I could have done without the unsolicited sexual audio message from David Hill’s profile on FB. It would have been great if he also did not then report our page for his bad behavior. But it happened. And honestly the worst part was coping with it all by myself. But I managed. Right? I survived. I enjoyed the rest of my time with my kids and life goes on. But it’s okay to feel any which way I need to feel.

I thought is this because we are an LGBTQ+ affirming practice? Is this because we advertise as kink affirming? Is this because I’m Queer? There is vulnerability in being Queer and being a know LGBTQ+ practice. These moments and interactions just bring all that vulnerability to the surface. But I will keep on keeping on. Because now more than ever Queer providers need to be visible and accessible.

The Elevator A*&Hole (It’s me. I’m the problem.)
Divorce and Separation · homophobia · mom of boys

The Elevator A*&Hole (It’s me. I’m the problem.)

lesbehonest2017Leave a comment

Let’s talk single mom life from Sunday to Wednesday this week. Sunday…playdate. Sunday is normally a night I don’t have the boys but for much of the Summer I have them. Which decreases my time without them to under 24 hours. They have a playdate. Lots of yelling and nerf guns in my house.

The dog peed on the carpet. For the first time in at least a year. Out of nowhere.

Then Monday we brought the boys for passports and it took me almost losing my mind for the lady to understand that the boys have two moms, and there is no “father”. I’d like to do one freaking thing without it being a thing. It was a thing. Aka homophobic.

I walked the dog around 10 PM that night and my back tire was flat. Totally flat. Called roadside. By 1 AM my tire was patched and I was crawling into bed. By 6:30 AM I was up. Tuesday night the boys epically melt. I sort of do too. We go to bed. I am awoken at 1 AM by a crying boy whose leg hurt. He has a bite. Likely a spider bite. Leg looks warm/red/swollen. And he’s crying. A lot.

Wednesday. I’m tired. Very very tired. We get up. The leg doesn’t look better. We drop one kid at camp. Spider bite goes to pediatrician. I cancel three clients. I pray I make it to my office for my afternoon clients. We see the pedi. We stop for a donut and coffee for good behavior and because he was bummed about missing slime making day. Then we stop at CVS for spider bite treatment items. I now have to pee. Like bad.

You ever carry twins for 9 months and have a C-Section? Permanently F’s up your bladder. When you gotta go. You gotta go. Turning into emergency.

We pull into my office. Because I had in person appointments today of course. I’ve now driven across much of the state. Small state. And drank coffee and water. I prep my son. We have to move fast so I don’t pee my pants. He very kindly gives me some advice, “Mom, when I have to pee bad I try and relax…just relax and take deep breaths and relax…” and it went on. Relaxing is not a good thing for me when I have to pee.

We make it to my office. I have three bags that are full. My Mom Coach bag, backpack for the laptop, and massive lunchbox. I am also carrying a cup and wearing my sunglasses. I’m looking a mess as we walk quickly into my building. In my defense, I have literally never encountered any one on the elevator in the 14 months we’ve had an office in this building.

I am counting in my head to ten up and down so I don’t pee my pants. The elevator door pings open and I walk forward with all my bags, head down…into a chest. “Woah, woah, woah” I vaguely process that I am walking into a chest and there is a large man trying to avoid physical contact with me who has thrown his arms up and he’s gotta be 6’3″ or taller. I don’t even look up though because I’m trying even harder not to pee. And I do the thing that we all should never ever do on an elevator. I don’t move out of his way. I’ve played this moment over and over in my head, and I should have just taken a step backward. But I just couldn’t. My bladder would not let me. So I sort of sidestepped and plastered my ass and my bags against the back wall and he kind of sidestepped still in total awe and potentially horrified that I have broken the worst of all elevator etiquette. Then I’m like, oh shit I have a son, I yell his name and look to my left and there he is. On the elevator.

Lord knows how he got there. It’s a small elevator and a small elevator door. Somehow the large man gets out of the elevator. I start sputtering and say “I’m so sorry, there’s usually no one in the elevator,” Okay. Honestly I know I said there’s usually no one in the elevator…I may or may not have actually apologized. I was seriously going to pee my pants.

We get upstairs. I run into the bathroom. I pee. I dropped all my bags on the floor outside the bathroom and left my son standing over them with his spider bite. I come out. I can think rationally and I replay the elevator scene and now I look horrified as I walk into my office. My APRN student is there and asks what’s wrong. I tell her the scene. She says, “Oh it couldn’t have been that bad,” My son nods his head, “It was. She really ran him over.”

Thank you spider bite.

Then I saw clients for four hours and checked on my son between each one. He was set up with all the possible screens and he was tired too. It all worked out.

Except maybe for the guy in the elevator. I can tell you now- if Craig’s List existed with its missed connections I’d be like “Yo, guy in the elevator, I’m the curly haired lady with big sunglasses and multiple bags that ran you over and violated the code of conduct for all elevator entry and exit. I am sorry. It was not my rational brain in that moment. It was this other brain that kicks in when my bladder is full and I have minimal sleep for two nights in a row. These are just excuses but I am sorry. You also had a nice chest and biceps unfortunately I did not see your face. I owe you a coffee at minimum. Sincerely, the elevator asshole.”

Some day I’ll have a normal week. Without homophobia, flat tires, illnesses, and bladder emergencies. ‘Till then. May the force be with you.

Sexy Single Mom with Pink Eye
mom of boys

Sexy Single Mom with Pink Eye

lesbehonest2017Leave a comment

What’s better than pink eye? Being allergic to the freaking antibiotic ointment. Special order eye drops that I won’t be allergic to. Of course local pharmacies don’t have it in stock and it “wasn’t shipped for some reason”. Day 3 with pink eye. After a thirty minute drive I finally am at the drive thru window of the CVS with my kids in the back seat after a full day of 90 degree camp.

“Um, it’s not ready yet, you can come inside?…”

Oh the poor woman at the window. She just didn’t know.

“So it’s 5:01 pm. I called at 4:31 pm and was told that it would be ready by 4:45 PM. So I gave y’all an extra sixteen minutes. Not to mention the forty-eight hours leading up to this when it was special ordered to here, there, and everywhere. So no. I will sit here. At the window. Because I have pink eye and seven year old twins in the backseat. Trust me you don’t want us all inside your store.” I said all this from behind my sunglasses that were covering my eyeglasses that are old and a smidge away from my current prescription which makes me squint and have horrendous depth perception.

And ya know. Pink eye. Eye boogers. Pain. Itching. It’s fine. I just ran a mental health practice all day with both my admin’s on vacation. It’s fine. It’s all fine.

She looked through both pairs of glasses and must have seen the crazy eye twitching and smiled and said, “No problem,” and then we waited.

Eventually I got the eye drops that I am not allergic to. Then I drove us home. Dealt with a patient. And a couple employees. I had promised my sons ice cream if they were were good in the car. They mostly were.

There we are. Ice cream place in town. It’s a counter. So you have to park and walk up and wait in line. We stood in line after parking. In 90 degree heat with my two pairs of glasses, no make-up, and a big purple stain on my shirt?! Where the F did the big purple stain come from?! I didn’t even touch anything purple.

“You like pizza?”

I turn and see a smiling man staring at me.

“No.” I say flatly.

He laughs. I actually do not like pizza.

“You ever eat at that place?” he points at the pizza place across the street.
“I mean I’ve gotten it for my kids, but they will eat anything. I think it’s good?”

I realize my sons are pretending not to listen. Then I realize he’s flirting with me. Listen it’s been awhile. And I was in no mood. He eventually walks away because I am in no mood. I have eye gunk. A purple stain. And I’ve been in the car and heat for over an hour at this point. I want to be at home.

We get in the car with their ice creams. My sons say, “So, who’s your new friend? Ya know the one I think he has a crush on you?”

I laugh, “He thinks Mama is pretty?” I say.

They laugh, “He wants to marry you!” they say.

Then we all laugh. And I stop at the liquor store for a nice cabernet and head home. Listen, with pink eye, kids, in the heat, and a purple stain…I still got it. Sometimes it’s just nice to have a little win. Even though I sucked at flirting. As in I killed the flirting. Pink eye.

Pride 2023 & The Twin 7 Year olds
homophobia · lesbian mom · mom of boys

Pride 2023 & The Twin 7 Year olds

lesbehonest20171 Comment

Pride month. 2023: a year marked by anti-LGBTQ+ legislation nationwide; furthering the divide of liberal vs. Republican. Every year I’ve gone to Pride I’ve thought about safety. I generally have gone only in the Northeast. Which is obviously mostly liberal. However, even in the safety of the Northeast there are always protestors. Every year. Every location I have ever attended Pride.

My tolerance level for protesters and my general approach to Pride changed when I had kids. We went when I was pregnant in 2015 to Asbury Park Pride in NJ. So technically that was the boys’ first Pride. The first year we brought them in person I was still married and in 2019 we attended the drag queen story hour before the parade. The boys were three. They loved it, we loved it, and we loved being in a city on a main street with families that looked like ours. When we walked out there was a man standing with a sign saying we were poisoning our babies and all the other vitriol they normally spew.

People started crowding him and there was definitely a scene about to happen…about five feet from me, my wife at the time and our three year old twin boys. We scooped them up and walked away. The parade went on and we enjoyed it. Then COVID, so no PRIDE for a couple years. But I finally could bring the boys again last year and this year. Last year there was a protestor toward the end that we walked by and the boys asked who he was and I sort of evaded.

This year before Pride the boys asked me, “What is this to celebrate? Like what is Pride?” Now…I’ve told them what Pride is. Multiple times. We have picture books about it and about the origin of the Pride flag and Harvey Milk and Stonewall…all the things. The Harvey Milk picture book actually makes me cry every time.

I responded to them, “It’s to celebrate families who look like ours. Like families with two moms, two dads, it’s to celebrate loving who you want to love regardless of their gender, and it originated from a time in New York City when…” now I was all settled in for a lecture on Pride and LGBTQ rights and my son interrupted me and said, “Oh yeah, yeah I remember now, okay,” clearly recognizing my teaching mode and wanting to avoid an educational lecture on the origins of Pride.

We went earlier than usual and did the tents and stuff before the parade. I was ecstatic to see the smiling faces, the many many rainbows, and all the Queers in one place. The boys love the free stuff and one of my sons was up to ten bracelets by the time we left. We left right after the parade, and right before the protestors showed up. Because they did. En masse.

The protestors being around my sons is not something I’m ready for. I’m lucky to live in a state with minimal protests. But they exist. There is hate here too. And when we were talking about Pride the boys were asking why Pride is even a thing and I explained about Stonewall but I also said, “You know there are some people who don’t want Queer people to exist and they don’t want us to have rights.” And one of my sons looked solemn and said, “Yeah like Mommy’s parents. That’s why we haven’t met them.” And they are right. My ex’s parents have never met the boys because of their beliefs.

But I forget sometimes that at seven they are now able to hold onto that fact and they recognize that void in their life. It’s a hard thing to explain hate to seven year olds. Honestly it’s way easier to explain the loving side of Pride. And for all the people out there who think Pride “sexualizes children” you are messed up. My kids have never once asked about sex and never once connected those dots. They just know sometimes girls can like girls, boys can like boys, and some people are born in boys bodies who should have been girls and vice versa. There is no discussion of genitalia because it just doesn’t apply.

I also hope that one day I won’t have to worry about planning to attend Pride around the protestors. I suppose one day the boys will just be old enough to understand that they will be there. Because as scary as it is to take a stand and attend Pride events with my children, in light of the heightened violence and divisiveness, I will continue to take them yearly (barring any other global pandemic). Because it’s important they see me go. It’s important they go and see other families like ours. It’s important they see me wave at the drag queens and cheer for transgender rights because that’s the kind of humans they should grow up and become. Accepting. Loving. Kind.

When the boys were up at a booth getting more free stuff I was about ten feet back and they were speaking to a woman who looked to be in her 60s. She looked at the crowd and yelled, “Who raised these boys?” I raised my hand, and all eyes turned to me, “I was an educator and administrator for 25 years, you are doing a good job on these boys. They are being raised right.” She smiled and head tilted me and I smiled and head nodded back. The boys eventually trailed back to me. I have no idea what was said between them. I didn’t even ask. They shrugged me off as I tried to hug them because they are getting too cool for public mom hugs. But damn. That felt like a win. At Pride. I was proud of them in that moment. And in a bigger way I was proud of me for being there with them, for single mom-ing them since 2020, and for standing for the Queer community in my own way.

Happy Pride 2023.

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

Single mom life with twin boys: Overnight Illness

lesbehonest20172 Comments

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

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

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

lesbehonest2017Leave a comment

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.

Single Mom vs. Christmas Tree: year 3.
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Single Mom vs. Christmas Tree: year 3.

lesbehonest20173 Comments

Everything I thought I knew about parenting when there were two adults in the house went out the door with my ex back in 2020. Because single parenting is a new ballgame.

We got our Christmas tree this weekend. And it was a debacle because I wanted pre-cut and went to a place, it was cut your own, before I knew what was happening a guy was shoving a saw in my hand and the boys were running up a hill. It’s not a little hill. It’s a half mile completely up hill. Since doing this on my own I have always gotten a pre-cut tree so I’m trekking up the hill already nervous that this is going to go poorly.

We make it up the hill. We find the tree. I’m on the ground in kind of a nice outfit because I was expecting a pre-cut tree, and with my hair down. I have a lot of hair. Curly. Trees. Sap. It was a thing. So I’m sawing the tree. My son keeps trying to grab the saw to “help” and I’m like please stop because I’m going to cut off your finger by accident.

When I hear a male voice from above, “You need a hand?”

I emerge from the ground/tree. There is a very nice man and five children of various ages and a small wife all smiling down at me and my kids. He and his teenage son get the tree down within about ten seconds like freaking champs. And the family is circled around us and I’m thinking they are going to start singing a song from a the Sound of Music or something. They look picturesque and sort of whole in a way that a single mom covered in sap, crazy hair, may have been swearing at the tree, and her two twin boys…well don’t. If my sons and I would break into song it would be a song from Jungle Cruise. Because, man, we are just trying to survive.

We get the tree. Thanks to the very kind Von Trapp-esque family. The tree farm people seem to emerge out of the trees as we are dragging the tree out and take it from the boys and I and throw it on a tractor that brings it down the hill. They strap it to our car. I mean overall it was great service and all inclusive.

The hardest part was when we got home. Because then it’s just me. I set up the stand, and the boys helped me hose it off, and I drag it inside, and am wrestling with it to get it in the stand and upright. This of course is after I got if off the car.

So there I am, wrestling a tree. It was a lot fatter than it looked in the field. And I still had on my nice clothes. And I am in the damn thing. And I’m trying to drop it on center of the stand, then lean down and screw the screw things and then it kind slouches over when I think I’ve got it.

It happened then. One of my sons was standing on the other side of the fat tree. I thought he was watching his brother play a Switch game but he was apparently monitoring me quite intently. I made a noise- somewhere between a sigh/sob/groan of frustration.

It’s in those moments that- well you ever get those flashes of the most intense thoughts and emotions that sort of leak in? Like when I first got divorced I was angry, grieving, resentful all the time low level. I’m not anymore. But in those moments it comes through- a flash of all that hurt and pain and anger at having to do these moments alone. It’s quite visceral and unless you’ve experienced it rather difficult to describe.

But it’s important to name it. To write it. Because if there is one single parent out there who reads this and feels that and this normalizes it for you, then it’s for the best. We, as a society, do not talk about divorce and the repercussions of it and single parenting two and three years in because we are all just supposed to adapt and smile and post on social media pretending every moment is liquid gold.

But it’s not. Because when my son heard that sound I made he came around and looked at me concerned, “Are you okay Mama?” “Yeah baby, I am okay, some things are just really hard to do with one person, and this is one of them.” He looked more concerned even though I was trying to take deep breaths and smile and act okay. “Mommy should be here.” He said quietly. And I knew in that moment he was remembering the Von Trapps at the Christmas tree farm, and yearning for that for himself. And for me.

I had to be at my sisters within about twenty minutes, and they went with my ex that night.

I got the tree up. It’s still standing and mostly straight. But this is divorced single Mama life. Moments of utter punch in the gut raw parenthood while I’m standing there alone putting up the tree. Then I just carry that. Alone.

My kids see me. They see cracks in my invincible Mama armor because I am human and how can I not have moments where I let my feelings slip through?

Other then hugging my kids and telling them I love them there are not “happy endings” to these moments. I had to finish the tree and then move on with our day. But that was a hard one and I was not okay after that. I don’t want my ex here. The divorce was very necessary for many reasons. And I am better as an individual and as a parent without her. I am allowed to feel alone though and lonely. And I would have appreciated another person over five feet in the room helping me with the tree.

And my son saw this whole family and then saw me break a little bit.

And this is why parenting changed when I started doing it alone. This is why it became harder and I feel even more blind navigating it.

Since becoming a single parent I’ve done some research and what I found were alarming statistics including 63% of suicides are individuals from single parent households. The stress, the shame, and the loneliness of single parenting is real and of course it impacts the children in the homes. Study after study showed an increase in anxiety, depression, and substance abuse as well as poverty and welfare among single Moms. There are of course many postulations on these statistics but seeing as how I live it I want to throw my own in there.

We have to start talking about these moments. We have to bring them into the light and out of this horrible shaming mindset. Being a single parent and having vulnerability and having sad moments with our kids is okay, normal, and should be expected. Because it’s hard and there are no normalizing factors within our communities for single parents.

It was less than ten seconds. That interaction with my son while I was holding a sappy Christmas tree. I’ve had other moments like this. They are intimate and visceral and raw and they make me feel like the worst human and also the strongest and most resilient and most alone.

I have resources though. I have great friends & family who see me and support me and I engage in my own therapy and I have built and continue to build financial security for myself and my sons. I also am a strong person and I’m too damn stubborn to give up on anything but especially not on my sons and myself. But there are many parents out there who don’t have the resources and maybe are not as strong. This is for you. You are not alone. These painful moments happen to us all and you are allowed to feel that pain in the moment and you’re allowed to let your kids see you feel it too. Give yourself some grace and accept help from people who offer it. You are not alone.

988- Lifeline/Suicide hotline

http://www.thetrevorproject.org

Trans lifeline- 877-565-8860

Welcome Cheetah. The dog.
mom of boys

Welcome Cheetah. The dog.

lesbehonest2017Leave a comment

The last year of my Dad’s life he kept talking about how he should have had a dog. The man fought in Vietnam and especially after retirement had serious issues with the military. He had a whole lot of family stuff happen. I mean. A lot. And his one regret…not having a dog. That has been a niggling thought in my head for three years. When my cats died in 2020 I brought up getting a dog. But my ex, at the time my wife, did not want a dog. She actually said she would leave if we got a dog. In retrospect…that was a missed opportunity. But here we are. Two cats. Two kids. Single Mom. And Pup.

Her name is Cheetah.

I had no say in her name. See above (two kids).

Now within the search for my dog I was adamant that I wanted a dog that could be a therapy dog, I wanted a mutt, I wanted to rescue, and I didn’t want a pitbull.

I’ve learned a few things about dogs since adopting one. Pitbulls are terriers. So a “terrier/hound” mix could actually mean a Pit mix. I did not know that before I happened to fall in love with a “terrier/hound” mix.

I applied to 4 or 5 rescues. Which by the way, is stressful. Then I waited. Then I heard from a few. Then I waited. I kept saying I would wait for the right fit. That I wanted a dog who is good with kids and cats and overall fit was more important than rushing it.

Then I got a call about a dog I found online. She wasn’t necessarily my first choice. But by the time she came through I had been in contact with a few shelters/rescues and I was basically going to agree to anything. I agreed to meet her. The foster mom texted me pictures and sang her praises. She was not totally cute in the pictures. I mean she was in a smushy dog face kind of way. I showed the boys, and Declan said, “She looks so sad Mama! She needs a family. She should be part of our family.”

Cheetah after our first in-person therapy session

The foster mom brought her over the night before Thanksgiving. She was exuberant to meet us. She licked Declan’s head. She does a tail wag with her whole body. The woman handed me the leash, and said a somewhat tearful good-bye to Cheetah. Then left. Cheetah watched her drive off and then was instantly immersed back in the chaos of our family.

She was perfect on Thanksgiving. I’ve never actually worried at all about her being with my sons. She gets hyper as puppies do, but she would never hurt them. She did try to nip my sister’s min-pin, which I still feel really bad about. But we are working with a trainer now who is socializing her. We’ve gone on walks at parks, and she loves people. She loves other dogs less; which is honestly fine. I don’t love other dogs either.

She loves kids. I’ve had her around a number of kids and she’s a gem.

Cheetah and her Boys

She is without a doubt a Pit mix. The vet, all 6+ feet of him, got down on the floor with her, grinning from ear to ear, as they tussled together. He couldn’t get enough of her. My friend met me recently and I brought Cheetah, and she clearly was happier to see the dog than me. It’s been three weeks and she’s stolen the hearts of most every one she meets. Including my patients on telehealth who see her now on camera. We even did a therapy session live, and she did excellent.

It’s been hard. Every walk. Every accident. Every second; it’s all on me. Takes a month to adjust to a new home. Takes six months to make a new routine permanent. We are now one month in. She feels comfortable. She feels at home. She sleeps in bed with me every night and we now have an understanding that she does not come past the center line of pillows until after 6 AM. Somehow she knows when it is 6 AM. On the dot.

Cheetah and Declan

We found a trainer, a groomer, and a dog walker. The groomer was the fifth? person to slam it down my throat that she is a pitbull. I was sort of trying to deny it. Referring to her as a mutt. The groomer said, “She’s a pit mix. Pit dominant.” I smiled and said, “Can you still give her a bath?” She laughed and said yes. She pointed at a little fluff ball in a crate waiting for her bath and said, “I’d take a pit over that little fluff ball any day.” The tiny ball of fluff then growled at no one in particular.

That was hard though; leaving her at the groomer. I know she wasn’t sure I’d come back for her. She’s five months old and she spent the first 4 months being shuffled from South Carolina, to CT, to a foster, then to me. Her butt wagging when I came back for her was fierce. When the dog trainer took her for the morning, she was unhappy, to put it mildly. When they finally got back in his car and drove to our meeting spot, she refused to get out with him and fell asleep in the front seat. She didn’t get out until I got there. Again, I think she was worried I wouldn’t come back for her. The foster had her for two weeks. We’ve now been the place she’s stayed the longest in her whole little life.

The cats. Ginsburg and Scooby Doo (Scooby the cat and Cheetah the dog. yes I get the irony. Again, I had no say in these name choices. I got to name Ginsburg who is a respectable cat with a respectable name!) So no one has tried to kill the other yet. Cheetah wants to sniff them. The cats sort of let her. Then run away. I haven’t let them all loose together yet…waiting for no Christmas tree as I have this vision of all three of them diving behind it. They did all sleep on my lap or lap adjacent on different occasions. I am hopeful they will all be harmonious. No red flags so far.

And why would I not end up with a pit? I spend my life championing minorities who are misunderstood, misrepresented, and maltreated. Once I accepted it, I realized of course I have a pit mix. How could I have anything else but the most misunderstood, misrepresented, and maltreated breed of dog? The vet called her a “Heinz 57” because she’s some of everything: lab, hound, boxer, rhodesian, etc. He also said if he had to tell a tech to go get her from a crowd he’d say, “Red pit”. She’s a love. She’s going to be a therapy dog. She hates the rain and the cold. She snores.

Welcome Cheetah:)

Cheetah and Ginsburg…adjacent

One of my friends told me I was matched with this dog for a reason. That she needed me and I needed her. I told myself I was getting her for the boys but as she snores softly on my lap as I write this, I know my friend is right.