When I stop to think of everything that is required of me to be able to raise these kids alone, along with trying to live a somewhat normal life, I get overwhelmed. I don’t know how I’m doing it. There is very little leeway in my schedule and time has become a precious thing.

My house, as usual, is suffering. I was at lunch today with one of my editors and we were on this subject. He is also raising his kids alone and has been doing so since his wife died last year. His kids are much older than mine, in their late teens. But we still meet up now and again to swap stories and offer each other support in this daunting role of single parenthood. He mentioned how hard it was to work full time and keep the house clean. And I could relate. I suddenly felt that it was just impossible to have a clean home while raising kids on one’s own. Now that school and soccer have started, there are some days that my family won’t get home until after 9 pm. The last thing I want to do is clean after they go to bed, and find that I am only cleaning up the very items that I had just cleaned up the night before. Their backpacks are strewn across the living room floor. Their clothes they wore are left on the bedroom floor. Papers from school are scattered all over the table mixed in with the morning paper. The dishes they used are left unrinsed on the kitchen countertop. Toothpaste spit is left in the sink. Any cleaning I do is not making any progress in creating a clean home. If I try to employ the kids in cleaning, the 7 year old starts crying and carrying on about how hard it is, and inevitably both the kids will end up in a fight. And when it is done, it’s usually ends up with all belongings in the corner of each room and claims that the house is now clean. I have to clean it all up myself anyway, and it almost seems like more work to break up the fights or continuously prompt my crying son into cleaning than it is just to clean it up by myself from the very beginning. And I’m so tired by the end of the day that I just cannot get it done. I don’t even like having company over only because of the state of my house . The mess remains, is still there the next morning, and grows even bigger when we get home the next day. It’s a neverending process, and I am tempted to just take all our belongings and throw them away, creating a clean home by just having nothing.

There is also my desire to be fit and stylish once again. I was reminded of this today as I walked through the mall doing some last minute school shopping. What I wouldn’t give to be as thin as I used to be, and the desire was accelerated by the young girls flitting around in cute little pants and tops while I went around in my loose fitting shirt over cropped pants. I was reminded of this as I ran into a girl I knew whose hair was highlighted perfectly in her swept up ponytail. And I was reminded of this during the past week as my sister looked beautiful in her bikini on the beaches of San Diego. It all comes down to time, time spent on fitness and meal planning and taking the time out to get one’s hair done professionally rather than doing an amateur job of trimming and dying one’s own hair in the bathroom of a tiny condo. Time I don’t have.

There’s my desire to own my own home, be able to have time for a real relationship, go away on a whim’s notice for the weekend, go out for an after work beer with coworkers without hesitation, be selfish with my paycheck, not have so many responsibilities on my shoulders…..

But there are things I will not give up. I will not give up the excitement I feel as I watch my son score a goal during an especially grueling scrimmage. I will not give up the way it feels to laugh straight from my belly with two kids who find the very same things funny. I will not give up the pride that overcomes me when I’m told how responsible and great my daughter is by her teachers, or when I receive her STAR testing results only to find that she excelled in every single area well beyond her peers. I will not give up the goodnight kisses, the good morning hugs, the heart to hearts that only exist between a parent and their child, cuddling on the couch watching a movie, or having my son whoop me in a Tony Hawk video game, both of us laughing while we talk smack to the other. I will not give up the love I feel each time I look at them and see a little bit of me wrapped up in their individual selves, and know that I didn’t do such a bad job in raising them.

My life is full because of them. I’d love a clean house. I’d love all the perks that could have been. But I think I love being their mom more.

Email me at winecountry.singlemom@yahoo.com

The kids started school today. Gone are the lazy days of summer, the vacations to the beach, the camping trips, letting the kids sleep in while I enjoy a cup or two of coffee over the newspaper, day camp, week long camp, swimming all day and watching movies all night…. Now we’re onto the busy days of juggling work, school, soccer, and everything in between. Today was no exception, we jumped in full force.

We left the house an hour earlier than we’ve had to for the past 2 ½ months, locking the door for the day at 7:45 am. We merged into the impossible traffic and then fought more traffic on the freeway, as well as the hundreds of parents who were driving their kids into school on the first day. Most parents were walking their sons and daughters to their classroom, taking pictures next to the school sign to commemorate the first day of school, giving extra long hugs and kisses as they said goodbye and trusted that the school would take good care of them. The good news is that this cleared the way for me to take my son to the drop off area, wish him a good day, and be on my way without ever leaving the car so I could then drop my daughter off at her school and then be on my way to work.

After work I had to pick up my son for soccer practice. My daughter was being driven to her practice by her coach, so luckily this allowed me enough time to not have to rush too bad. I got to my son’s daycare and helped him get his gear on. Hint to all parents: if your child wants the cool striped soccer socks that are all the rage (although my son is the only one wearing these monstrosities…..), check the elasticity. These things are so dang tight that they take up most of the time getting on. I had to have him plant his foot on me, on the floor, behind his head, every which way to try and maneuver this sock on over his shin guard. I’d get a little bit on, then tug at the top, then get his toes in, then tug some more.

Once everything was on, we had only a couple minutes to get there. But being just down the street, we were still on time. I sat on the sidelines and watched the kids play while sneaking in chapters from the current book I’m reading (California Book of the Dead, by Tim Farrington). At one point the coach’s son got a ball kicked at his face. The coach stopped what he was doing to attend to his son while the assistant coach took over. The woman next to me mentioned that she was a nurse, but only a birthing coach so she couldn’t help. And then she laughed at that. I looked around and saw that no one else was moving to help. Of course, I wasn’t up either. So I got up and walked over to retrieve the coach’s son so he could continue coaching. I sat the 6 year old down and mommied him a little before joking with him and making him laugh. Soon he forgot about his reddened eye and was ready to go back in.

My son’s game has improved majorly, mostly from just being one of the older players and learning how to retain instruction better. He made several great plays in practice, and listened intently as the coach gave him pointers. I was pretty proud of how much he had grown in a year’s time. His coach made it a point to give each kid a compliment on their playing at the end of the game. This is definitely going to be a good soccer year.

After my son’s practice, it was on to my daughter’s. By this time I was starving. It was after 7 pm and we still had another hour before soccer was over. I really need to figure out a good plan for soccer days, perhaps fill the cooler with some sort of dinner or something. I opted to sit out the practice and just relax in my car while my son played at the nearby playground. When her practice ended, I walked out to the field to thank the coach for his help in carpooling and get the info on the next practice and the next game.

Our next stop was my parents’ house so I could trade cars with my dad. By this time I was famished, and decided that instead of digging into the leftovers waiting in my fridge I would just eat theirs. My parents weren’t home, but my uncle was. And as I ate he pointed out that I was way too pale for having just gotten back from vacation, and that I sure seemed to require a lot of salt on my food. Gotta love family.

I left there around 9 and got home around 9:30. The kids showered and got ready for bed. I kissed them goodnight and turned out the light by 10, 1 hour past their bedtime. I then took one survey of the house holding the remnants of the whole day, thought about the papers I still needed to sign for my kids’ schools, and decided to go to bed myself.

Day 1 down…..many more to come.

Email me at winecountry.singlemom@yahoo.com

We were on our way to dinner with friends when we stopped at Oliver’s Market to pick up a few things for the meal. As we got closer, my daughter took notice of the man outside the store strumming his guitar. His face was weathered, life’s toll taken out on him in a hard way. He may have only been 50 or so, but his skin was so beat up he almost looked to be 80. His hair was in need of a cut, not to mention a wash. His clothes were soiled with probably everything he came across in the past month. All his belongings sat beside him tied up in a worn looking pack, and a simple cardboard box lay about 3 feet in front of him with only a couple dollars in it. He sat cross-legged against the wall with his guitar in his lap, the outside world nonexistent to him as he sang with his eyes closed.

We’d seen Oliver Stamps* before, making his living with his acoustic guitar outside Safeway. Well, to be correct, we heard him before we saw him. This sweet voice drifted to the parking lot as we walked from our car, the guitar only a compliment as the notes played with his voice. He sounded young and alive. It seemed curious to hear such a talented sound just at Safeway. The songs were not familiar, and I can’t even remember the words he used. But the melody was haunting and surreal and I had to see the source of such a sound. We came closer and saw him. It was the same man that sat before us now, his eyes closed, singing to a world inside his soul and giving us outsiders a glimpse of his personal reality.

Life’s been so busy lately. As summertime is coming to a close, we’ve been cramming the weekends full of activities, trying to hold onto the summer moments for as long as we possibly can. And the weekdays go by in a blur as I work and the kids go to day camp during the day, and then we fit in some sort of event for the evening. We’ve enjoyed a weeklong camp, Tuesday night dinner with friends, going to the Market every Wednesday, visits with their dad on Thursdays, and now we are adding two to three soccer practices a week along with soccer games that start in September. I have my whole schedule recorded and color coded, and have a plan for attack on how kids will get to activities and who will be where at what time. Once school starts and soccer is underway, we won’t even be home for dinner half the week.

I’m not complaining, though I do have my moments of personal pity parties (please see past blog entries). This is just the way things are when there’s one parents, two kids, and three agendas. I have heard from several different people that they are amazed at how I do it all. I’m not repeating that to sound cocky. Even I am amazed sometimes, and even proud, that I can allow my kids a somewhat normal life without letting my single status get in the way. It has just become our way of life, our version of normal. But between driving kids into their different schools in the morning, working all day, picking them up at various points of pick-up, driving them to their obligations, taking care of dinner, and putting them to bed, there is hardly enough time to breathe. My free time is limited immensely, the idea of fitting another event in my schedule almost overwhelming. It’s gotten so bad that I may have to drop or alter my babysitting sharecare because I have run out of free days for when this could take place, thus limiting the few social interactions I enjoy. And I tend to mentally hyperventilate just thinking about the future when the present feels like it could fall through the cracks if there is even one loose stone.

Oliver sat with his guitar in his lap, unknown images being painted inside his eyelids as he melted words all over the pavement in front of us. And though in a hurry, I slowed my step and leaned against a pillar to just capture the moment for what it was. We stayed silent as he sang, and the world and our insane timetable evaporated while the music took over. It was only for a couple minutes. Afterall, life still has a funny way of taking precedence. But that small moment reminded me of the importance of breathing, taking the time to inhale and exhale, stop and listen to the music.

Everything will be there when you come back to earth.

Email me at winecountry.singlemom@yahoo.com

*The name of the guitarist is unknown. The nickname has been affectionally handed to him by myself and some friends who have seen him outside the Post Office among several stores (i.e. Olivers). Hence, Oliver Stamps was born.