Diary of a Single Mom on the Edge

A new home

Welcome!

This is the new home of Diary of a Single Mom on the Edge.  For now it will simply house the archives (minus the ads!) of the blog that I wrote for Club Mom from May of 2006 until December of 2007.  I may choose to start posting to it again regularly, but for now, feel free to poke around in the old posts.

Thanks for visiting.

have yourself a crooked little christmas (tree)

There's more of what we've been up to over at my personal blog.

things I've been wondering lately

When did Hijo and I start referring to each other as "dude" all the time?

How much longer before Hijo won't fit on my lap at all?

How can I possibly get all the present shopping done before Christmas?

Will I be able to resist the temptation to buy a sailboat?  If I had a sailboat, would I be able to resist the temptation to just sail away and never come back?

How much better would I feel if I were allowed to follow my own natural sleep/wake patterns?

What should I do with this blog once Club Mom no longer hosts it?

I may not have answers to most of these qustions, but I have decided that for now I will just re-incorporate my mommy blogging into my regular everyday blogging that I do here. 

I want to thank Club Mom for the great run here.  I especially want to thank all of you for reading and commenting and sharing some of my life with me.  Enjoy the rest of your year, and I wish you all the best for 2008.

~Janeen

the more things change

It seems that Hijo and I have equally expensive tastes in Christmas presents.  He wants a Wii and I want a Nikon D80.  I told him not even Santa could arrange a Wii.  He grumbled, "Even Santa has to listen to what the parents think about stuff?  No fair!"  He was already rather miffed because I'd assured him Santa couldn't bring a puppy either.  At least he still believes.

He's almost nine, and I feel like he's close to another stage of his childhood.  I was asked to please stop embarassing him the other day. All I was doing was acting goofy with a girl in kindergarten (who adores my attention, thank you very much).  He doesn't like to hug and he's too big to pick up and carry around.  He can barely fit on my lap.  He has declared our game of trying to be the first one dressed in the morning (complete with a taunting song) to be almost too babyish for him.

It's hard to explain that sense of loss and gain all wrapped up in each milestone of Hijo's life.  I love watching him grow up.  I miss my baby.  Almost every moment feels like that.  I often ask myself who is this kid.  I wish I could understand him better, wish I could explain to him all the complexities of trying to be a good parent so maybe he could understand me better.

I probably won't be writing about him as much now that my run here at Club Mom is just about through.  From the day that he told me he didn't want to be referred to as "kidlet" online anymore I've been aware that I have to pay close attention to they way I talk about him in this public forum.  Before too much longer, he'll have his own MySpace (or whatever it will be by then) page and will undoubtedly continue to be embarrassed by whatever it is that I do, both online and in real life.  Such is the burden he must bear.

Meanwhile, they got their first snow in Seattle, where Hijo is with his dad this weekend.  We got some big beautiful white flakes here yesterday, too, but they didn't last and I know he'll be disappointed when he gets back here to see the green grass.

I am going to my parents' house today to finish up addressing the invitations for their 50th Anniversary party.  My mom was 18 when they got married.  I don't think there's anything in my life now that was there when I was 18.  I've struggled against sameness, it seems.  And now I find myself mourning all the changes.

post-thanksgiving musings, with lyrics

A week has passed just like that.  I hadn't meant to abandon everything here like that.  I find that I'm feeling the need to pull back and regroup and figure out what my next best step is.  Meanwhile, we're smack-dab in the middle of the holiday season.  The long Thanksgiving weekend went by in a whirlwind of family and friends and ferry rides.

Stayed up late one night talking with my sister.  I used to know her better than anybody and now she is this almost-stranger who looks like me.  We talk mostly about family stuff.  I am so glad to have her in my life; I know that someday we will be closer again. For now we are like that line in the song Southern Cross: "My love is an anchor tied to you, tied with a silver chain."  There is a bond there that can't be broken, but there are many links between us.

The rest of the weekend made me think of a quirky little Elton John song, Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters.  "I thank the lord for the people I have found." 

Then there is my mom, who is essentially my co-parent, who always is there when I need her for a child care emergency or a financial emergency, or advice, or help with Hijo's dad, or anything at all.  I don't even have to ask, she is just there. 

At Thanksgiving dinner we were given slips of paper and pencils to write down what we were thankful for.  I think I misunderstood the instructions, because most everyone wrote just one thing.  I made a list.  I started with, "I am grateful that Hijo is healthy" and I just kept going until I got to the bottom of my little paper and there was no more room.

the end is near

ClubMom has let us know that they have decided to eliminate all the MomBlogs by the end of the year.  Many of your favorite ClubMom bloggers will be continuing their blogs at a different venue.  ClubMom has graciously offered to let us keep our content and blog names intact. I haven't decided yet what I'm going to do. 

The timing is interesting as I've decided to take a short hiatus from my personal blog (a decision I made before knowing what was up with ClubMom).  So, although I will be posting here through the end of the year, it might be fairly sporadic while I figure out what the best thing for me is. 

But enough about me.  Get on over to CafeMom (if you haven't already) and get your profile set up and start hanging out and sharing stuff with all the thousands of cool moms there.  There are at least five different groups for single moms alone.  There are groups for every interest and hobby and family situation.  Although I appreciate so much everyone who stops by here to read what I have to say (and I surely won't quit blogging entirely), I know that most of you don't just want to read what I say, you want to participate in a more active way, and I'm happy that ClubMom has figured that out and is embracing web 2.0 culture.

It's been a real treat to be here; I've loved the experience and I appreciate so much the opportunity to connect with all of you.

I'll be checking in later this week with some thoughts on (what else) Thanksgiving.

Janeen

On Borrowed Wings by Chandra Prasad, a SMOTE review

I confess that it took me a long time to read On Borrowed Wings.  I read two other books in between the time I started and finished it.  I was impatient with its beginning, wanted to rush right into the meat and heart of the story instead of letting it slowly unfold.  But as I read the last sentence, I had tears in my eyes and I turned immediately back to the first page to read the opening paragraphs again.  I guess you could say it grew on me. 

On Borrowed Wings is the story of Adele, the daugher of a small town Connecticut stonecutter who is attending her first year at depression era Yale disguised as a boy. Prasad uses all the drama inherent in that situation to good effect.  There is so much to hide, so many ways she might get found out, that it's dizzying, and you find yourself terrified wondering whether she can pull it off.  By the end of the book you are extremely gratified that she does -- and not always in the ways you might expect.

Not only must Adele hide her true female identity from everyone around her, but she must also hide from the one person with whom she shares her secret: her mother.  Born to a wealthy family, her mother becomes estranged from them when she marries Adele's father. When he dies, along with Adele's brother Charlie in a quarry accient, she desperately concocts the scheme that sets Adele's adventures in motion and that she hopes will save her from the "granite wasteland" of their hometown. She is vain, proud, bitter and oddly sympathetic as she trades jewelry and other less tangible things in order to ensure that Adele's identity remains hidden.  Although tightly bound by their plan, if not a deep love, everything becomes unraveled as Adele gains independence as a result of her new life as a student.

the cursed errand

Hijo and I had the day off together yesterday.  It could not be described as a love-filled fest of mother and son bonding. 

The day was ours except for one errand that I had to run.  It was a simple errand, consisting of needing to go downtown (all of a mile from where we live) and pick up the envelopes for the invitations to my parents' 50th wedding anniversary party.  This errand, in any normal circumstances would take about fifteen minutes. 

However, Hijo did not want to go.  He passionately did NOT WANT TO GO.  He refused to go.  He could not be cajoled.  He could not be reasoned with.  He could not be beaten into submission.  He could not be bribed nor threatened nor convinced in any way that I could conceive of.  Nice mommy didn't work.  Mean mommy didn't work.  Evoking his beloved Grandmother, for whom we were performing this simple task, didn't work.  He suggested I just leave him at home.  I considered it.  But he's not quite old enough to stay home alone, even for a brief errand.  Not to mention the fact that by this time there was no way I was backing down.  It was a classic power struggle.

This went on for the better part of an hour, my frustration building.  I explained to Hijo that we were wasting more time talking (arguing, whining) about this errand than if we'd actually just done the errand in the first place. Finally, we left the house, braving the wind and rain, only to arrive at the stationery store and have her tell us that the envelopes weren't there and she was oh so sorry she hadn't called me up to tell me.

I did what any completely frustrated frazzled grumpy mom would do at this point: I started to laugh.  And then we went and bought lasagna and brownies.

reasons I'm feeling better

The blahs seem to be fading quickly, thank goodness.  The fact that it's the weekend helps immensely.  No matter how much I like my job, I will always like my own time better.  Also helping my mental and emotional state is the fact that I am beginning to have a social life here in PT.

I've been dancing a few times, went on a nice long walk with someone I met at one of the dances, and later on I'm going to the movies with a woman who I think will become a true friend.  I've been patiently waiting for this to happen.  Well, waiting on it, and working towards it.  Taking those little steps to get me here.  Pushing myself a bit.

Hijo's dad got a new job, a job that I think will improve his life significantly even if it doesn't pay a whole lot more than what he's making now.

I took some nice fotos:

Finally, an announcement:  I promised the author of the book I'm reading to review here that I'd post it by November 15th.  Which is fast approaching!  I am the queen of procrastinators, so don't expect it much sooner than that, but do expect it.

play

Every mom knows that kids learn by playing.  But what about adults?  Why don't our lessons ever involve play?  How much are we restricting ourselves because we never let ourselves play around?

I'm not talking about the things we do for fun.  I'm talking about taking an open, playful approach to the way we learn things, or even take on a new task.

For example, I'm starting to work on a big creative project.  I think a lot about how I'm going to approach it.  I work on it.  I think some more.  I deal with my anxiety about whether I can actually complete this project. I talk to my friends about it.  But I never just play around with it. 

Why not?  I'm starting to ask myself.  What horrible thing might befall said creative project if I just played around with it a bit?  Made it fun to work on?  Took away the weight of calling it BIG CREATIVE PROJECT and just turned it into play?

It's a scary concept, I think, because playing around means relinquishing control.  If we're just messing about, then we aren't serious writers/painters/photographers, we're just goof-offs.  We are opening up ourselves and our work to a certain amount of messiness.  And grownups hate messes.

However, I think it's important to break free of this adult mantle that I wear around all the time.  Mother. Responsible Employee (Team Player!). Writer.  Making art, any kind of art, has its basis in play, a delight in the materials, the colors, the sounds, the rhythms of whatever it is you're playing with.  If I can just get back into that sense of freedom around what I'm attempting, I might be able to pull it off.  And I'll certainly enjoy myself a hell of a lot more.