Single Mom at Work
with Karli Larson
The transition from stay-at-home mom to divorced-and-working-full-time mom can be challenging, and sometimes very lonely. Throw in a few cats, an ancient dog and one very brave boyfriend, and life gets downright crazy. Join me as I talk through my thoughts and struggles, my miscalculations and my triumphs. We're in this together, you and I.
When I'm not writing here you can find me over at work on the TisBest Philanthropy blog.
Hope, happiness and American Girls: overrated in the USA
Categories: Fighting the Stereotype, Relying on parents
|
Dear Mom,
Hi! How are you? Thanks for dropping off the toilet paper and cleaning out that really cruddy pan!
You are three blocks away now in the serenity of your apartment, no doubt reading Stargate fan fiction and chuckling. Did I chuckle once? As a kid? Is that a gene thing? I sigh heavily now. Did I do that as a kid, or is that just an almost-40something thing?
Mom, I really have to get my ass off Facebook. Yes, MOM, I said ASS. I know you don’t like a pottymouth, but I said it because sometimes only ASS will DO when you are a CURMUDGEON BEFORE YOUR TIME. I know that’s hard for you to understand, because your only daughter did not inherit your outrageously cheerful genes, the bright sunshiny ones that send even really scary, non-Mormon vampires scuttling for their coffins. I AM CRANKY, and MOM, I AM BEGINNING TO YELL OUT LOUD AT PEOPLE ON FACEBOOK.
I have a lot of friends on Facebook. I will let you put quotemarks in the air. It’s fun. You are not a sarcastic person, by nature, so I will tell you what to do with those quote marks. Hold up two fingers on each hand, index finger and naughty finger. Repeat, “I have a lot of friends on Facebook.” Dig ‘em in, those fingers, right around “friends.” Go on, Ma. I’ll wait. There you go. Yes, yes. What? Oh. Your unicorns and kittens didn’t like the quote marks, I know. Unicorns and kittens don’t like sarcasm, and they definitely don’t like cranky quote mark fingers or hooves or claws. But don’t let them shame you. It was a bonding experience for us.
Anyway, Ma, I get to read a lot of updates on Facebook, and I am thanking God that the month of giving thanks is over, because I just read one that said, “SO THANKFUL FOR MY SUPER FAMILY AND FRIENDS AND SWEETIE PIE AMAZING HUSBAND AND IT’S ALL JUST UP UP UP FROM HERE!!!!!!!!”
Mom, you were the one who taught me punctuation and grammar, so maybe the multiple exclamation marks would have peeved you too. But, God help me, I yelled. I yelled at the screen. I yelled so loud, Ma, that the dog jumped and the cat leaped off the bed. I yelled, IN ALL CAPS.
I yelled, “YOU DON’T KNOW THAT! IT COULD BE DOWN! DOWN! DOWN! IN FACT, THE LIKELIHOOD IS VERY, VERY HIGH THAT YOUR PEDESTAL WILL CRUMBLE LIKE THE ROMAN EMPIRE AND ALL THAT YOU THINK YOU KNOW IS GONE AND YOU’RE BACK TO MESOPOTAMIA, FACEBOOK FRIEND! WOMAN! BE WISE!”
Well, Ma, no, I suppose I wasn’t still yelling by the time I got to Mesopotamia. I was probably more muttering by the time I got to the metaphor of Mesopotamia, and the Tigris and the Euphrates. In my defense, I am hating the holidays and this was not helped by (get your fingers ready, Mom) “CyberMonday” at the American Girl online store, which required–are you ready?–a seven-hour all-day fortress-scaling event to snag two half-priced and still-overpriced items, the Kit Floral Dress and the Emily Two-Piece Bathing Suit, neither of which will likely be played with for more than fifteen minutes.
Maybe, truth be told, it was the brazen, triumphant hope in those multiple exclamation points that made me bug out, Mom. I’m scared for her. I’m envious too. You bet I am.
I told my therapist today that I can no longer in good faith believe in hope, because HOPE is NOT the thing with feathers, not for me. Sorry, Emily Dickinson. I could handle a plucked THING and probably even would, knowing my weakness for small to large, feathered, furred, generally stinky creatures. But I can’t keep waiting around for the traditional definition of hope to kick in: a quiet serenity and faith that all will be okay.
I haven’t felt that way in several years. That anything will be okay.
Not just for months. Haven’t felt it for years.
I wish it weren’t the case.
But as one groovy Chinese philosopher put it, “The wise man lets go of that, and chooses this.” Even if my this isn’t the stuff that fab holiday greeting cards are made of.
The fact is, it’s still my this. My true this. Ma, I know you wish I didn’t hurt so much. I know you wish a lot of things, like I kept my kitchen spotless, and I believed in the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, or if I even still believed in rainbows.
I wish those things too. But I’m tired of feeling around desperately in the dark for this elusive “hope” thing when I simply don’t feel it. One more thing to add to the failure list.
When I took over this column, Ma? There’s a category that is always checked, called “Fighting the Stereotype.” I’ve tried unchecking the box for that category, but I don’t know how yet. I think the former excellent writer, K., was fighting the stereotype of single working women. But the more I think about it, the more I think, hey, anyone who writes a personal point of view here, honestly, is fighting the stereotype of single mamas by simply being real. We don’t need no stinking category for that.
I’m cranky, Ma. I’m sad. So I don’t feel hope. Okay. Maybe I don’t need it to get by. I sure love my kids. I’m a good mom with great days and crappy days, just like any other mama. I am full of fear and grief that won’t quit. I hate not knowing what I want to do with the rest of my life. I’m sorry if I let you down. I’m sorry I’m such a strain on you. I hate being divorced. I believe I’m better as part of a team, I really do. I’m pretty sure I’ve used up my Happy Quota for a lifetime.
I never want to look at a computer again. I want to live near an ocean. I want to care about a career. I want to find work. I want to be healthier again. My mind goes to dark places I wish it wouldn’t. It doesn’t always tell me to keep going, like you’d think a nice brain should. And that’s some scary stuff, Ma.
So I give myself the right to spend time with anyone who isn’t disappointed in me, anyone who doesn’t make me feel disappointed in myself. I give myself the right to change, the right to be completely alone. Sometimes, that’s less discouraging and less lonely than being in a room full of people offering advice, suggestions, no matter how well meant. I give myself the right to give up on the Books, or at least yell “uncle” for a while.
Ma, I want to get an official restraining order against hope. I would say, Hey, Hope, to get through this? I need to let go of you and choose this. I need to forget about you. Goodbye, Hope. I’m moving on.
Hope takes me out of the here and now. Empty promises. Now, contentment—contentment, we might be a good match. Contentment sounds nice, solid. Contentment only lives in the present. I like the sound of that.
I’m a Single Mom, at Work. How about that, Ma?
Mom, thanks again for the toilet paper, and the pan. I don’t know how you do it. You’re a great mom. And you’re a Single Mom, Still at Work. I need to remember that.
Fighting the stereotype in my own singular way, and loving you,
Your Daughter
Subscribe to blog via RSS
Contentment *does* sound nice.
Keryn | December 1st, 2009 at 9:58 am
“SO THANKFUL FOR MY SUPER FAMILY AND FRIENDS AND SWEETIE PIE AMAZING HUSBAND AND IT’S ALL JUST UP UP UP FROM HERE!!!!!!!!”
Allcaps with that many exclamation marks has *got* to be overcompensation for something terrible in this person’s life.
Daniel | December 1st, 2009 at 10:00 am
Once again you’ve held a mirror up for me.
Heidi | December 1st, 2009 at 10:08 am
Not sure what to say, but wanted to leave you some commenting love! Your mom is awesome, and so are you! I hope (gah) that you can find a job by the ocean that does not involve a computer. Would you really be willing to move? Thanks for continuing to write, and for providing a contrary voice in the holiday season! It’s important.
Jane | December 1st, 2009 at 10:10 am
Thanks for sharing your heart so eloquently. In doing so, you articulate what so many of us are feeling or have felt at some point in our lives.
Hugs!
Amy | December 1st, 2009 at 10:29 am
Optimism and hope are bad for your health anyway.
http://www.cmu.edu/homepage/health/2009/fall/happily-hopeless.shtml
ClumberKim | December 1st, 2009 at 10:31 am
I am anti-facebook because of these allcaps, over-compensators. And I think contentment is an awesome goal.
caro | December 1st, 2009 at 10:43 am
Wow. This spoke right to me.
Bethany | December 1st, 2009 at 11:10 am
Jenn,
I collected unicorns as a child, for a long time, into my teens I think. When I gave them to my girls, I wasn’t crying because I still loved them.
I was crying because I had believed in them.
I know how hard it’s been; I’ve openly wept reading your posts over the years, mostly because I think, it takes one to know one. As always, I wish I could give you comfort; I know that I can’t.
I want to paint shingles with you. I want to turn my face into the sun with you and let the saltwater bleach my hair in ways that only saltwater can. I want our girls to run the shoreline together and look out into the waves and recall the story of unicorns being the whitecaps.
And believe.
Your friend, with no quotations, Jenn
PS–I deleted over 150 “friends” from facebook about two weeks ago. One because every post was SO HAPPY!!! SO PERFECT!!! SO GOOD!!! In real life, I’m sure she would be the type of “friend” I smiled at while hoping that when she came back from the bathroom, her skirt was in her underwear and toilet paper on her shoe. Awful, yes. But you know, we cannot help our minds.)
Jenn | December 1st, 2009 at 11:45 am
I hate nauseatingly positive Facebook updates like that. First of all, have some sensitivity for those of us with lives that are a tad more complex than yours. Second of all, really?? All UP UP UP? Let’s try up and down and up and down. She really jinxed herself on that one.
All Adither | December 1st, 2009 at 11:48 am
Once again blown away by your gift; your ability to put your raw, honest feelings on the page (er, computer).
And yes, you can delete FB “friends”….or just “hide” their updates so you don’t have to be annoyed by them. Because sometimes? Those people deserve a smack-down (aka LIFE).
kate | December 1st, 2009 at 12:20 pm
you speak truth here.
messy, uncomfortable, painful, all of that.
still, truth.
((you))
slouchy | December 1st, 2009 at 12:28 pm
Pandora’s box, baby. It got out and ain’t no one gonna shut it back in again. It just flew a little too far away for awhile, that’s all. But gravity sucks, and all that. It’ll be back.
Facebook is dangerous. Aye, that it is.
jolyn | December 1st, 2009 at 12:36 pm
I like “hope,” because the word contains the concept of “not expecting.” That Facebook status wasn’t hoping, it was EXPECTING. Or ASSUMING. Hope says: “Oh maybe, maybe so!”
swistle | December 1st, 2009 at 12:37 pm
I’m not currently single, nor am I yet a mother, but I totally agree with you that, wherever I am right now, seeking contentment in each day, each minute, makes me much happier than hoping in a distant and uncertain future. For better or worse, though, I still let hope carry me away sometimes, with varying results … I’ll see how the hoping-to-be-a-mother-one-day thing works out. I’m just trying not to let it steal my contentment in the meantime.
Molly | December 1st, 2009 at 12:49 pm
thank you for being real… i appreciate authenticity.
jennifer | December 1st, 2009 at 3:02 pm
I love how you and your ma have the same relationship as me and mine. They love us and do the best we can. So, why is it that we don’t always forgive ourselves for doing the same?
Just some fat to chew, Jenn. See ya on the Facebook.
Mocha | December 1st, 2009 at 3:21 pm
It took me some time to figure out this post (and maybe I still haven’t). I understand the online fake euphoria. I think that’s a result of the fact that facebook, etc. are not safe enough to tell anyone’s “real” story. It feels safer to tell the good things, so people do more of that. I also think that people feel more of a need to “share” when they have extremes of emotion, good and bad. So the long and short of it is, Facebook ain’t real.
And knowing what’s real (or not) is necessary to happiness. I mean, look at all the young people who are miserable because they think they have less than “most people” or are expected to do more than “most people.” Or they think that some material possession will make them happy. They think this because they don’t have a well-developed BS filter to use while in contact with various media and with peers. Hence they see their glass as half empty instead of half full.
I’m not sure what you mean by “hope.” Do you mean hope that everything is going to go the way you planned it, or hope that you’re going to find happiness? Because if you can whole-heartedly abandon the former, you will find the latter a lot sooner.
Positive thinking does make good things happen. But you gotta really couch your hopes in a positive way. Not “I hope I don’t screw this up. I hope Mr. Jerkhead stops being a jerk. I hope I can finally have what I’ve been deprived of.” But, “I believe tomorrow can be a good day because I can embrace most of what I encounter tomorrow, and either enjoy it or learn from it. I believe that if anyone can do this, I can.”
I have to be honest and say that I don’t know how it feels to lose hope. I do know how it feels to realize there are some things I’m not meant to have, but to me, that’s not the same as losing hope.
SKL | December 1st, 2009 at 3:45 pm
Take the Facebook posts with a grain of salt. It’s a very deliberately created snapshot of people’s lives. My Facebook update this afternoon would have been something like, “I have incredible intestinal cramps and diarrhea and I feel lousy” but since that isn’t acceptable, I acted all smiley and perky instead, between trips to the bathroom. It ain’t all sunshine and the people who shriek about how perfect life is are fooling no one but themselves.
BadKitty | December 1st, 2009 at 5:01 pm
“First of all, have some sensitivity for those of us with lives that are a tad more complex than yours”
Yes, people who are content and even happy should just shut up about it so that those who feel like crap won’t feel worse.
No one owes anyone else any special handling, kid gloves, or anything other than simple courtesy. If you’re overjoyed, keep it to yourself.
And if you’re upset, suffer in silence.
Rachel | December 1st, 2009 at 6:59 pm
goddamn. i love you.
sending more thoughts a different way in a bit.
xoxoxol
Lisa | December 1st, 2009 at 7:45 pm
My best friend’s husband left her at the end of summer, leaving her capsized and heartbroken; leaving me capsized and heartbroken, watching my buoyant, strong friend crumble just a bit.
Each week would pass, and I would think: She is turning the corner. She starting to accept things. And just then, someone would take her to lunch and play Pollyanna - “He’ll be BACK!!!!! You’ll get a higher paying job!!! - and I swear, I SWEAR, it was the hope that kept breaking her in two.
I think it’s mighty fine to live with contentment. Shack up; live in sin.
And I love the way your cheery mom loves you. What a gift.
Lisa Milton | December 1st, 2009 at 8:49 pm
Yeah, I too was perplexed at the “more complex lives” comment. I know we like to say that “ignorance is bliss,” but that doesn’t mean bliss is ignorance. Quite the opposite in most cases.
SKL | December 1st, 2009 at 8:56 pm
The Buddhists say “Abandon Hope,” so maybe you’re onto something.
“Hope” thinks things always go up, up, up.
You know that life just goes.
6512 and growing | December 1st, 2009 at 9:57 pm
Hope is blindingly overrated.
Heidi | December 2nd, 2009 at 12:33 am
No words, but thinking of you and wishing you contentment.
Momsy | December 2nd, 2009 at 4:52 am
Don’t know what to say other than I love your writing. I still believe in hope, but struggle alot with the fine line between content and complacent.
AmyT | December 2nd, 2009 at 9:03 am
Love your writing and your honesty, Jenn. It will save you. Mine has always saved me.
Lindsay | December 2nd, 2009 at 9:50 am
“Contentment only lives in the present.” How simple and true. Now, if it was only simple to stay in the present…
Jennie | December 2nd, 2009 at 10:42 am
From another divorced mom of 2 daughters, contentment is a good thing! Sometimes all we have is the here and now of today and finding contentment with that is no small thing. I think Hope will understand that you’re ‘on a break’ from it, and it will find you when you’re ready. And if it doesn’t, then the hell with it anyway. ;^)
Leslie | December 2nd, 2009 at 10:46 am
No words from me either, other than your writing inspires.
xoxoxoxo
Lorrian | December 2nd, 2009 at 11:30 am
I love everything you write. Even when it makes me feel sad it makes me smile. You are truly gifted with words, that sounds so corny. But so true. And I love your mom too.
karen | December 2nd, 2009 at 12:45 pm
I’m so glad the Thanksgiving FB posts are all done too! And I’m a pretty hopeful contented person…but geez, how disgustingly asskisser-like do people have to be! I like the shift from hope to contentment. It suits you. Hope seems so hyper and perky…contentment sounds more Zen-like, sitting on a mountain, observing peacefully.
Holly in Michigan | December 2nd, 2009 at 1:38 pm
Yesterday I called my best friend and practically screamed into the receiver, “tell me something happy.” After finding out my aunt may have the dreaded C word, and it being the first World AIDS day after my brother’s positive diagnosis, I wanted so badly to find something to hold on to. Right now there just isn’t anything. I’ve lost my hope as well. I’ve sent it packing. Life is easier somehow not trying to live up to hope and the possibilities it brings. Right now I want to just curl into my cave of doubt to question and scream and be angry. This is not the life I have sought. I am not happy with this plate and I’m sure as hell not hopeful of what’s to come. It’s nice to hear someone verbalize my own thoughts. Thank you.
Christa Lisbon-Slack | December 2nd, 2009 at 4:14 pm
Just remember: Facebook updates are like those end-of-year, everything’s-great! newsletter updates from delusional friends. It’s never that good. And while it may feel like it sometimes, it’s never that bad.
Hang in there. You make people laugh– hard, belly-shaking laughs– with your mere words, and that’s a rare gift.
p.s. I love your mom.
Mrs. Q. | December 2nd, 2009 at 8:12 pm
I well remember being buoyed by hopeful phrases, a time when the words alone contained a measure of medicine. And I well remember the day I took everything down - every carving, mobile, card, etc. - and packed them away. I miss them sometimes but much more than the items I truly miss any sense of buoyancy. Ever. At all. All the steps of grieving apply, even for losing the sense of hope. Reaching acceptance means a lot. Thanks, as always, for telling the brutal truth.
Susan | December 2nd, 2009 at 8:56 pm
Every time I think that hope has died, inside me
I breathe it in again
with the warm sweet scent of my children sleeping.
Sometimes the future is a gift
clutched, tight but gentle, in their grubby hands
Like a beetle
or a stone
for show and tell.
Or a promise, feathered soft as kisses on a peach plump cheek.
Madam Morgana | December 3rd, 2009 at 1:37 am
I love that you have the strength to put your truth out there for us all. You are one brave warrior woman. May we all be as brave as you are.
I’d like to come paint a shingle when you make it to the cape.
reggiemomma | December 3rd, 2009 at 10:47 am
First, I hope you know that your writing is simultaneously hilarious and heartbreaking. You have a rare and precious gift. I’m reminding you just in case you had forgotten.
Second, you seem to assume that hope for your future circumstance and acceptance of your current circumstance are mutually exclusive. I don’t believe that’s true, and I trust that you will one day agree with me. I remember when I first got divorced, people would say, “OH! You will meet someone new and he will be wonderful and sweep you off your feet…” And I thought that was what I was “supposed” to hope for.
But now I know better. My hope now is that I will be a strong and confident and funny and fulfilled woman, a good example for my daughter…regardless of my relationship status. I believe I am becoming that kind of woman; I really do. But it took a long time to get here. So maybe your hope is that you will find contentment. If so, that’s not giving up on hope. It’s just giving up on relying on someone else to fulfill your dreams.
Amelia | December 3rd, 2009 at 11:00 am
This was beautiful in its honesty- thank you.
Katie | December 3rd, 2009 at 12:08 pm
I’ll second you on all of that shiny-happy-FB stuff. It reminds me of those hyperbolic photocopied letters my parents used to get in Christmas cards from friends and “friends.” Perhaps a re-reading of “Holidays on Ice” is in order?
Steve | December 3rd, 2009 at 1:31 pm
“But I can’t keep waiting around for the traditional definition of hope to kick in: a quiet serenity and faith that all will be okay.”
I don’t see how these cancel each other out.
Quiet serenity, noisy serenity–who cares? Rather than navel gazing, why not do what needs to be done, no matter how you feel about doing it or indeed about anything?
Deeds not words. Deeds not emotions.
Rachel | December 3rd, 2009 at 2:42 pm
Don’t abandon hope, Jenn, abandon Facebook!
Lesley | December 3rd, 2009 at 2:43 pm
not even a single mom, and I am with you on all that “happy thanks” stuff on facebook. I’m an often stressed out, married with 3 kids (4 if you count the husband) mom. There are “friends” I truly know and frequent as friends, who are nowhere near as happy and thankful as their cheery one liners might suggest. I’ll take your real and true and cranky, any day of the week–for many, facebook is just another way to pose as someone we are not. so glad you are not one of them.
ldeb | December 3rd, 2009 at 4:05 pm
Lesley is exactly right.
Amelia | December 3rd, 2009 at 4:12 pm
Thanks, all. You continue to inspire. And make me think. http://www.breedemandweep.com/good-deeds-not-words
Jenn | December 3rd, 2009 at 9:53 pm
Jenn, I believe that your writing, your honesty, is truly one of the most generous deeds that I have ever witnessed.
amysue | December 4th, 2009 at 2:00 am
Your writing is so beautiful and so real. I love the quote from your facebook “friend” and your yelled resonse. Just what I would do!
So happy to see you here on this website!
Alissa | December 4th, 2009 at 12:06 pm
the trouble with some people is that they think they can know a person from one post. or even one thousand and one posts. what a writer writes is just a tiny particle of dust in a vacuum bag full of dust bunnies and lost polly pockets shoes .
deeds AND words. yes. all of them.
jenn, you are a beauty, inside and out. a person of superior deeds and words.
as a writer, i understand it’s hard not to read the reviews. i read them too, and some are good and make you think and others are just plain wrong because the reviewer just missed the point altogether.
xoxoxoxoxol
Lisa | December 4th, 2009 at 9:20 pm
Facebook can be a bit irritating that way. I have a “friend” who always posts updates like that. I don’t know you or your mother outside of your blog, but I doubt that you are disappointing her. She’s probably worried that she’s disappointing you. But your writing never disappoints me and you other readers.
Kristen | December 7th, 2009 at 2:12 pm
You and your ma have the same thing going as me and my mom. She has always been the super cheery, nothing bothers her, June Cleaver baking in the kitchen type mom. I, on the other hand, was always the opposite and knew that things were not always quite as cheery as she “kept” them. I loved the article.
Oceans Mom | December 8th, 2009 at 9:32 am
I keep wanting to fire you–you are crazy. But I can’t. I am compelled to follow you and see what you write. You are such a good writer you make me want to cuss. I feel like Salieri obsessing over Mozart! And you don’t have career aspirations? Why again are you not published? Or did I miss the book?
angie | December 12th, 2009 at 3:24 pm
Ah, but the words are the deed. Sharing the pain and the promise helps keep me (and others) grounded. Contentment is a worthy goal - sometimes all you need to be able to say is that it was an ok day.
LJ | December 16th, 2009 at 1:10 am
This post has stayed with me for a long time. “I want to get a restraining order against hope” . Yes. Thanks for giving this words. I hope contentment has proven a good match.
Kelly | February 1st, 2010 at 11:09 pm