I have been on the road since birth. My grandmother, whose other name was Road Warrior, held no qualms about saddling me up in the backseat of her Buick after church on a Sunday, drive up the coast or "Down East" for those who know what I mean, and visit with friends. She'd throw in some cassette tapes of people singing hymns, or a barbershop quartet and off we'd go, in search of old people and maybe a reuben sandwich from Moody's Diner in Waldoboro. She then would turn around after a few hours of visiting, return to church and return me to my mother in the evening. And before I came along, it was my mother holding down the backseat.
Nowadays, I need my car for survival. And sanity. If the car stops, so stops the nation. I started smelling what I thought was antifreeze from my car about a month ago. Instant panic ensued. Trying to find an hour to have someone look at my car is like asking me to carve out an hour of my day to read a novel by candlelight in a bubble bath. I took my chances with my really loud spoken, guitar playing neighbor Wendell's referral of "Jimmy the mobile car mechanic". The benefit is the mobility. That was the only benefit. The problem is that "Jimmy", after finally making it over to take a look, blew me off for.....ever. Awesome. My next stop was my neighbors brother who owns a shop on the local Army base in my backyard. He at least let me take his 1991 Toyota Camry to pimp around in while he spent the day only to bring it back telling me that, virtually, I'm crazy and nothing is wrong with my car.
A sigh of relief and re-confirmation that I'm nuts.
I find some sort of calm while driving. Alone. Driving while with children prevents all rational thinking from taking place. The only problem solving going on at that point is answering the 47 questions being hurtled in my direction while simutaneously opening a snack and a bottled water for someone. I drove around the country once, solo. Dozens of folks asked me why I chose to do that 10,000 mile trip alone and my one response, which I never wavered from was, "Could you think of one person in your life that you could be in a car with for three months and not want to kill them by the end of it?" That usually shuts them up for a minute as not many folks have an answer for that one.
I am at that critical point with my SUV that I truly fear a hard rain or a car wash will surely make it fall apart. If there is a clean spot anywhere inside the car, it's an anomoly; especially with two boys and me driving over 300 miles on a normal week inside the beast. I'd vacuum it, but it's about as high on the totem pole as that bath thing...
But what does one do without a car and your livelihood, motherhood, etc., depends on it and you can't trade cars with your mechanic? That is a situation I hope to not be in anytime soon; and for now, no car washes, just to be safe.
Follow my blog. Ok, please follow my blog. It'll encourage me to try to make you smile, even if I can't see you, more often.
Monday, February 18, 2013
Monday, February 11, 2013
Life in Wonderland
Being a single mother of two boys and working full time is what some people refer to as insane. Me, well, it's just another day in Wonderland. Think Alice in Wonderland, where there is only a smidge of reality. Yes, there are bunnies in real life, but none that pop out of a hole in the ground and tell you to hurry and find the singing yellow spotted toad.
While some people "just don't know how I do it all", I haven't a clue how mothers stay at home and stay sane simutaneously. Seriously. I'm home for two days in a row with my kids and I'm willing the neighbors to come outside so I can "happen to take the trash out at that very moment" just to interact with someone above the height of 48".
I'm still relatively new at this gig; as far as time goes; the "honeymoon" period of single motherhood, so to speak- so under a year. Therefore, I am allowed to have nothing to eat in the fridge at a moments notice, simutaneously lose a kid and my car keys and forget to call someone back for three months (which just happened last week). While there is no written rule, I am maintaining this "honeymoon" period until at least June to get my shit in order. I'm almost there.
There are some things that I am anal about to make my weeks go by without me wanting to drown myself in the bathtub in gin.
For starters, I try to organize meals for weeks at a time so I don't come home and have to get two boys who can't find their shoes they just had on for an entire day back on so we can hit a greasy dive four nights a week. Some nights it's pork tenderloin with veggies my kids won't eat, other nights its Spaghettios. But at least it's on the list and in the house. Somewhere.
I pack their bag for their father's house when I'm doing laundry on the weekend prior so they are ready to have fun in Testoterone Land- five days in advance. I find great joy in getting that bag ready sometimes (see paragraph two).
There is a routine the boys follow. Every day. This keeps us all from not losing our shit and wondering what day it is. Homework, dinner, play, bed, bath and beyond. You get the idea.
Finally, everything goes on my work calendar. Everything. If it's not on my calendar, it doesn't exist. Want to chat with my best friend in Texas on a Wednesday night ten days from now and oh, add in the time difference and a collective of four kids (between the two of us) getting to bed and sleep on time so we can pop corks simutaneously 2,000 miles apart? It has to be on the calendar- if not, I forget to charge my cell phone, don't see the calendar reminder to call and decide to have my neighbor over for Mommy Time instead. And putting everything on my work calendar also exposes all the crap I have to remember to the rest of my office (unless I choose to make my 47 reminders "private appointments") making me look like I don't have two short term memory brain cells to rub together. Oh well, I say. My kids are dressed, my house isn't on fire and I still have time for work.
More to come from this career mom on the go. Next stops- crack like dependency on my SUV, apples and how far they fall from the proverbial tree, 1,000 questions, Evening Mommy Time (EMT), and a special guest appearance by Wendell my middle aged, guitar playing, really loud speaking, grease monkey neighbor. Stay tuned.
While some people "just don't know how I do it all", I haven't a clue how mothers stay at home and stay sane simutaneously. Seriously. I'm home for two days in a row with my kids and I'm willing the neighbors to come outside so I can "happen to take the trash out at that very moment" just to interact with someone above the height of 48".
I'm still relatively new at this gig; as far as time goes; the "honeymoon" period of single motherhood, so to speak- so under a year. Therefore, I am allowed to have nothing to eat in the fridge at a moments notice, simutaneously lose a kid and my car keys and forget to call someone back for three months (which just happened last week). While there is no written rule, I am maintaining this "honeymoon" period until at least June to get my shit in order. I'm almost there.
There are some things that I am anal about to make my weeks go by without me wanting to drown myself in the bathtub in gin.
For starters, I try to organize meals for weeks at a time so I don't come home and have to get two boys who can't find their shoes they just had on for an entire day back on so we can hit a greasy dive four nights a week. Some nights it's pork tenderloin with veggies my kids won't eat, other nights its Spaghettios. But at least it's on the list and in the house. Somewhere.
I pack their bag for their father's house when I'm doing laundry on the weekend prior so they are ready to have fun in Testoterone Land- five days in advance. I find great joy in getting that bag ready sometimes (see paragraph two).
There is a routine the boys follow. Every day. This keeps us all from not losing our shit and wondering what day it is. Homework, dinner, play, bed, bath and beyond. You get the idea.
Finally, everything goes on my work calendar. Everything. If it's not on my calendar, it doesn't exist. Want to chat with my best friend in Texas on a Wednesday night ten days from now and oh, add in the time difference and a collective of four kids (between the two of us) getting to bed and sleep on time so we can pop corks simutaneously 2,000 miles apart? It has to be on the calendar- if not, I forget to charge my cell phone, don't see the calendar reminder to call and decide to have my neighbor over for Mommy Time instead. And putting everything on my work calendar also exposes all the crap I have to remember to the rest of my office (unless I choose to make my 47 reminders "private appointments") making me look like I don't have two short term memory brain cells to rub together. Oh well, I say. My kids are dressed, my house isn't on fire and I still have time for work.
More to come from this career mom on the go. Next stops- crack like dependency on my SUV, apples and how far they fall from the proverbial tree, 1,000 questions, Evening Mommy Time (EMT), and a special guest appearance by Wendell my middle aged, guitar playing, really loud speaking, grease monkey neighbor. Stay tuned.
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