Single, not alone

Why? What? Where? When? Who? How? A goofy smile spreads over that little boy face as he pounds me with random questions that have nothing to do with my current thought process. Time is running out as I shove shoes onto his stubborn feet. "Mom, I have a question for you." "Hum?" I mindlessly mumble as I contemplate using a hammer to encourage the tiny shoe to fall into place. He sneakily asks, "What is a question?" I groan as I am bombarded with the exact same question that I have heard one hundred times before. It's the question used when my dear sweet son wants my attention, but he is all out of questions. "Mom!!! What is a question?!!!" He blabs in my face. Losing patience, I snap, "You already know what a question is. Now bring me your other foot please!" He sticks his other foot near my mouth and wiggles his toes at me. My son is silent for a whole one minute while I shove his other shoe on his naked foot. With that battle won,

He has hurt me before. He turned me into a puppet without a voice. I forgot who I was and could no longer imagine what I could be. Now my shackles are broken and I'm blooming into a magnificent flower. I have my dream job, my dream son, and I'm experiencing new excitements. My instinct is to forgive and forget now that I am free. For the sake of my son, I wish forgetting is possible, but for my sake, I hold onto those dark memories. With those memories, I wish not to hate, but to learn. I will remember that I am worth more than a passing glance. I will remember that I am deserving of more than cruel words. I will remember that I write my own story and no one can steal away my pen. I remember the pain and rejection so I can move forward and learn to trust again. We are told to forgive and forget, and for the most part, I excel. However, how do I forgive fully without giving power back to my puppeteer? It's a balancing act. I can't give in to his tantrums, but politely,

Hurricane Child canters through the store, marking everything in his path. My hoarse voice breaks and heads turn as I compete to calm the storm that is my child. "For goodness sakes! Stop climbing the shelves! Put that candy back! Where did you go? Watch where you are going! I'm going to leave you here! Get in the cart! No, I am not buying that." With a wild chase I swoop up the ever-moving little boy and buckle him into the cart despite his shrieking objections. For a moment, he is contained, but can one fully contain a storm? From the time it takes me to pick up the eggs and put them into the back of the shopping cart, my son slithers from his buckled state and stands up to his full height in the moving cart. An audible gasp comes from onlookers around me. I can imagine their thoughts only too clearly. "Worst mother ever!" They must be judging as I sternly tell the young boy to sit down before he breaks his neck. But the words that come out of their mouths ar

I'm walking up a steep mountain of ice. I dig my toes in and aim for the flat ground at the top where comfort awaits. One step, two step, three, and more. As I near the top I allow a smile to take over my face. I am determined. I am strong. I am, I am, I am slipping. I gaze longingly at my final destination as I will traction to my hands and shoes. As strong as my will is, it has no power against the falling feeling I have. I watch my goal slip further away as I wildly grasp for anything at all to fight against the momentum. The bottom is growing close. I shut my eyes and cry out for any help because I can't stop the fall on my own. Finally, I feel a patch of grass growing out of the ice. I scrape my knees as my legs fight to use the grass as an ally. It works. I am still. I begin my climb up again. I near the top. I'm finding hope. I slip, I fall, repeat. Climb, slip fall, stop, climb, slip, fall, repeat. Repeat. Repeat. What is the point? Any gain is quickly and easily

I'm yelling because my child is yelling about me yelling at his flaky dad. Two hours and seventeen minutes I waited for that man to come take a turn at parenting. After many phone calls and frustrated texts, I gave up and headed home. Then, like a cruel joke, my ringtone interrupts my grumpy grumbles as I am nearing my destination. As I suspected, the voice of my dark mood came into my ear with a mock innocence. "Why did you call so many times? Are you bringing the boy? What is wrong with you? When will you calm down? You are the one who called me. You know my car is broken." With patience gone, the yelling begins. First, I yell at my ex, and then my kid yells at me and I yell at him in return. Crying follows. I know my son is disappointed that his dad did not come for him. That leads to him saying hurtful things to me "I only love Daddy and not you! You are a mean mommy! Don't yell at my dad!" I put up a wall and try not to hear it or feel. I pump up the

My mind is scrambled eggs trying to piece together what my intentions were when I opened the mirror in the bathroom. Mouthwash? Nope. Food? Um no. Drugs for my headache? Likely but unsure. I continue staring blankly ahead when my eyes finally rest on the floss. Ding ding ding! I'm proud of myself for figuring out the puzzle. Mission accomplished. With floss in hand I trudge to my room, stumbling over toys, clothes, stray apples left over from a day of canning, and other various objects until I reach my childhood bed. With what little is left of my strength, I hoist myself up into the middle section of the what used to be a three bedded bunk bed. With the floss pick halfway to my mouth, my thoughts start to drift farther and farther from cleaning out the food in my teeth and before I realize what's happening, my thoughts have turned to dreams. Goodnight.

Hello, My name is Cynthia Peck. I am a mother of a wonderful four year old boy. He is honestly the cutest kid in the world and a lot of work. Recently, my life has been turned upside down and backwards with the shock of a divorce. I guess I kind of knew it was coming but I never thought I would actually be strong enough to get out of my unhappy marriage. For me, my divorce has left me tired, stressed, and more happy than I have been in the last six years. However, my son has not had the same reaction. He is adjusting, but I feel like he is still trying to piece together why his life is so different now. He is figuring things out by pushing buttons and squeezing out as much attention as he can from me. He has mentioned several times that he wants me to marry his dad again. I am not a perfect mom. Sometimes I'm not even a good mom, but I know that no matter what happens, I am not alone in this crazy adventure of being a single mom. I am surrounded by friends and family who have been