Another Day in the Life as a SINGLE MOM

Rock, smooth, fun, unique, emotional, groovy, woman’s ecoustics

Looming above the house was a crescent moon. 
Was it waxing, or was it waning? 
I did not know. 
I sat there for a moment before pulling in, fully, under the carport and turning off the ignition. 
It was breathtaking, until it wasn’t. The scene was a disguise. It was not real. It reminded me of something else that looked good on the outside, in the dark, to the oblivious onlooker; but what was seen was not how it really was. 
A different kind of darkness swelled inside of me. 
In that moment, the front door opened. Emma, my four-year-old, rushed outside without any coat, socks, or shoes on. 
I tried to push the negativity out of my mind.
I opened the car door, and the air was so crisp that I could see my breath. “Mommy!” Emma shouted. “You’re home!” 
Her round little face grinned from ear to ear, and her chubby cheeks were pink from the cold. Her squishy hands were up by her face, as she hopped from foot to foot in the snow. She simply vibrated, and her grey eyes sparkled with energy. 
It was cold outside, but she made me feel warm. I opened the driver’s side door wider. “Get inside little woman!” I shouted at her. “You’ll catch a cold: it is freezing out here!” 
“I just needed to see you! Why did yah take so long?” she questioned. 
I exhaled. 
“School just took a little longer than I’d planned. Hurry up and get inside before you die! I’ll be inside in a moment.” 
The night air prickled my face and hurt my ears. I quickly grabbed my hippie purse and my oversized backpack, locked the car door, and rushed inside. I was relieved to feel the warmth of home. 
The door was jammed, so I squeezed tightly inside the narrow doorway that led into our entryway made for tiny people. It was too small for the six people who lived here. 
My heart sank. No wonder the door would not open wide enough: there were dripping boots, coats, and snow pants piled high in a puddle on the floor. At least the backpacks were neatly hung; only they were unzipped with homework and lunch kits hanging out of them. 
Why did nobody put their stuff away like they were supposed to? 
I strategically side stepped and shut the door, trying to keep winter outside and everything else inside. I kicked off my boots, hung up my things, and tried not to look directly at the mess. 
I worked my way into the living room. 
Four of my five favorite people were there, and all their faces were glued to the television screen like zombies. Bodies of all sizes lazed on the crooked furniture with pillows and blankets. This was the YouTube generation. Kids preferred to watch people do things rather than experience life for themselves. 
Emma had hopped up with her older sister Grace, who was nine years old. They were wrapped in a pink duvet. Grace had one arm around Emma and the other around Oreo. 
That smug, little cat. 
Nobody heard me, and nobody moved. An atomic bomb could have gone off and they would still just sit there, faces forward, glued to that stupid screen! 
Hunter, who was six, sat entranced with his mouth hanging open. His honey-brown eyes said that nobody was home. 
Noah, my fourteen-year-old, was not any better. He was sprawled out on our second-hand sofa. He lay with my favorite quilt, the one with the rosebud pattern. One of his long hairy legs was draped over the back of the couch, and the other was resting on the arm rest. He was a big boy, and he was only going to get bigger. His shoe size matched his age, and I swore that he was going to eat me out of house and home. 
I marched over and turned off the TV, only to receive groans of dissatisfaction. 
“Glad to see you too! Can somebody please tell me what’s going on here? Why does everything have to be a pigsty all the time?” I complained. 
“A simple ‘hello’ would’ve been sufficient, Mom, and a ‘Thanks Noah for babysitting,’ would’ve been nice, too.” Noah spat. 
My heart ached. 
Why did I just say that? 
“I’m sorry you guys, but this is unsatisfactory. A mess follows me everywhere I go these days, and things need to change.” 
“Maybe you shouldn’t have had so many kids then...” Noah muttered under his breath.

4128/7500

Looming above the house was a crescent moon. Was it waxing, or was it waning? I did not know. I sat there for a moment before pulling in, fully, under the carport and turning off the ignition. It was breathtaking, until it wasn’t. The scene was a disguise. It was not real. It reminded me of something else that looked good on the outside, in the dark, to the oblivious onlooker; but what was seen was not how it really was. A different kind of darkness swelled inside of me. In that moment, the front door opened. Emma, my four-year-old, rushed outside without any coat, socks, or shoes on. I tried to push the negativity out of my mind. I opened the car door, and the air was so crisp that I could see my breath. “Mommy!” Emma shouted. “You’re home!” Her round little face grinned from ear to ear, and her chubby cheeks were pink from the cold. Her squishy hands were up by her face, as she hopped from foot to foot in the snow. She simply vibrated, and her grey eyes sparkled with energy. It was cold outside, but she made me feel warm. I opened the driver’s side door wider. “Get inside little woman!” I shouted at her. “You’ll catch a cold: it is freezing out here!” “I just needed to see you! Why did yah take so long?” she questioned. I exhaled. “School just took a little longer than I’d planned. Hurry up and get inside before you die! I’ll be inside in a moment.” The night air prickled my face and hurt my ears. I quickly grabbed my hippie purse and my oversized backpack, locked the car door, and rushed inside. I was relieved to feel the warmth of home. The door was jammed, so I squeezed tightly inside the narrow doorway that led into our entryway made for tiny people. It was too small for the six people who lived here. My heart sank. No wonder the door would not open wide enough: there were dripping boots, coats, and snow pants piled high in a puddle on the floor. At least the backpacks were neatly hung; only they were unzipped with homework and lunch kits hanging out of them. Why did nobody put their stuff away like they were supposed to? I strategically side stepped and shut the door, trying to keep winter outside and everything else inside. I kicked off my boots, hung up my things, and tried not to look directly at the mess. I worked my way into the living room. Four of my five favorite people were there, and all their faces were glued to the television screen like zombies. Bodies of all sizes lazed on the crooked furniture with pillows and blankets. This was the YouTube generation. Kids preferred to watch people do things rather than experience life for themselves. Emma had hopped up with her older sister Grace, who was nine years old. They were wrapped in a pink duvet. Grace had one arm around Emma and the other around Oreo. That smug, little cat. Nobody heard me, and nobody moved. An atomic bomb could have gone off and they would still just sit there, faces forward, glued to that stupid screen! Hunter, who was six, sat entranced with his mouth hanging open. His honey-brown eyes said that nobody was home. Noah, my fourteen-year-old, was not any better. He was sprawled out on our second-hand sofa. He lay with my favorite quilt, the one with the rosebud pattern. One of his long hairy legs was draped over the back of the couch, and the other was resting on the arm rest. He was a big boy, and he was only going to get bigger. His shoe size matched his age, and I swore that he was going to eat me out of house and home. I marched over and turned off the TV, only to receive groans of dissatisfaction. “Glad to see you too! Can somebody please tell me what’s going on here? Why does everything have to be a pigsty all the time?” I complained. “A simple ‘hello’ would’ve been sufficient, Mom, and a ‘Thanks Noah for babysitting,’ would’ve been nice, too.” Noah spat. My heart ached. Why did I just say that? “I’m sorry you guys, but this is unsatisfactory. A mess follows me everywhere I go these days, and things need to change.” “Maybe you shouldn’t have had so many kids then...” Noah muttered under his breath.

0/500