Do you hear it?

The street I live on dead-ends into a road that is closed -- barriers on each end of the 1-mile stretch of pavement that at one time was supposed to be a continuation of a fairly major road in the North Fulton area.  Only residents that live directly off this stretch of road have good access to it.  Along this road is a huge empty lot that some investor apparently envisioned would make a great mixed-use development.  But it never happened.  I guess they ran out of money, not unlike a large percentage of Americans with interests in the real estate market.

I am not a fitness guru, but I do run occasionally - not on a regular basis...I probably only average once a week.  But, let me tell you, this road is a runner's dream.  So I've come to look forward to my quiet little runs as one of the highlights of my week.

No major hills, no cars whizzing by.  Very quiet.  Great scenery.  The occasional bunny hippity-hops right into your path (I kid you not).  It is a little piece of heaven on earth for a city-dweller that is still a country kind of girl.

I heard something when I was running today.  Something kind of amazing.  I could just tell you outright, but that's no fun.  I'd rather take you running with me.  Which is KIND OF a big deal since this is my very, very favorite time to be alone.  But today I'll make an exception. To play along, I'll ask you to try and eliminate as many distractions as possible before we go on our run together.  Turn off the TV.  Have your significant other watch the kids for a sec.  Pull over on the side of the road (OK, seriously, you better not be reading this while you're driving).

Ready?

Let's go.

It's dusk.  The sun has already set and the crickets and frogs are already singing a chorus in greeting to the night.  But there is still plenty of good light for a short run.  I stretch my arms overhead as I turn left at the bottom of my driveway.  My neighbor is in her yard and I wave in greeting.  She waves back with a smile.  She is a single mom too, and invited me out to dinner a few weeks ago despite the fact that she is Latina and still struggles with the language barrier.  "We need to stick together, because this is hard," I remember her saying in fragmented English.

I maintain a brisk walk, stretching my muscles that feel a bit achy after working in the garden today.  When I reach the stop sign at the end of road, I break into a jog as I turn left onto the closed road...and my quiet place of solitude welcomes me.   I'm in a slow jog now, nothing strenuous.  Just working out the kinks now.  I look across the enormous empty field to my right, a great green and brown sea of delicious nothingness.   Hills that at one time were likely piles of excavated earth are now overgrown with brush and weeds, and they pleasantly break up the landscape, begging passersby to climb.  So after a short distance, I pick one, and I do.  I take it at a run and feel my quadriceps burn as I quickly reach the top.  A bit breathless, I turn to see the view.  The sky over the small neighborhood around the corner looks bigger from here.  Dark periwinkle clouds tower into the sky against a pale blue-grey sky back lit from the sun that has already said good-night.  In the distance, I can see that rain is falling, maybe five miles south of here.  It looks like a veil drifting down from heaven.

Do you hear it yet?

I trot down the hill and continue my run, rounding a bend with a lone high rise building in view a short distance away above the trees.  The windows look like golden mirrors to the world, reflecting the end of another day.

I reach the end of the road now, where the barriers are, and turn around to make the return trip.  I am on a slight incline now, and my muscles in my legs burn blissfully, reminding me of how fortunate I am that I get to have legs.  That work.  The thought makes me smile.  My heart beats more quickly and I feel my pulse in my fingertips.  A healthy heart, too.  I have a healthy heart.

A young couple sharing their evening walk together approaches, and I lift two fingers to acknowledge their passing.  They barely acknowledge me because they are looking at each other.  They are still in love.  It is beautiful to see.

It is getting dark now.  The chorus of nighttime creatures grows louder and it is the perfect background music to the rhythm of my feet falling on pavement.

Do you hear it yet?

There is tall grass to my right -- it is never mowed here.  Each long blade of grass is graced with a fluffy wisp on top, and they all nod their little heads at me as a slight breeze starts....as if to say, "Good job, good job, good job..."

It is almost dark now.  I find myself wishing there were at least a couple of stars out.  I love the first stars of the evening.  As I make the turn onto my street, I slow to a walk.  With the change in direction, I find that the breeze is more significant now, cooling me from the heat of the run.  A wisp of hair comes loose from my ponytail and the wind uses it like a soft hand to stroke my face. 

I walk up my driveway, then stand for a moment on my little back deck, looking into the back yard.  Then I see them. Lightning bugs.   Twinkling here, there and everywhere.

Like stars.

Do you hear it yet?

No, not with your ears.  With your heart.

I love you.  I love you.  I love you.

"My love, I've never left your side
I have seen you through the darkest night
And I'm the One who's loved you all your life...
...you're not alone, for I am here."
lyric, "You're Not Alone" as sung by Meredith Andrews

The time you miss it most of all

"In the wee small hours of the morning...that's the time you miss him most of all." 
- lyric, In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning

Ask anyone who has been divorced what they miss about being married, and you will get a wide range of answers.  Some recount snapshots of happy memories with their spouse, such as a carefree day spent on vacation together, or sharing a private joke in a room full of strangers...little moments when their love was still new...or even tangible.  To a certain degree, I envy those people.  These are not the things that come to mind for me.  Maybe the happy times were just too few and far between; or maybe the pain from the divorce itself is still so near that it strangles those memories before they can even rise to the surface.

The occasions where I miss my married life often take me by surprise in the silliest ways and almost make me laugh.  Like the last time I mowed the lawn.  Yep, can't say I'm too thrilled about that aspect of single life. 

But other times, those moments are like punches in the gut.  The kind that leaves a mark.

This week Ben has been suffering from a pretty nasty stomach bug.  Low-grade fever, vomiting, and general yuckiness all around.  It started when we were visiting family over the weekend.  He seemed to get better after 24 hours except for weakness and a lack of appetite, so I thought we were over the hump.  But Monday he came home from school and collapsed on the couch, refusing to move or eat for the rest of the night.  Then, just as I was asking him if he was ready for bed, with no warning, he projectile vomited.  I don't know if you've ever seen this in real life, but let me tell you, it is kind of scary.  And it went EVERYWHERE as I carried him from the couch to the bathroom -- couch pillows, rug, floor, walls, ME...nothing was spared en route to the potty.

Poor kid.  After he finished, he looked around and seemed to share my dread.  "Look at this mess!" he said, cracking a joke as only my sweet boy can in the midst of general horror and discomfort.

I put him directly in the tub, washed him off then carried him to his bed.  I put clean pajamas on him and said, "Baby, can you read your books while Mommy cleans this up?"

"OK," he responded dutifully.  Not a whine, not a complaint.

So I proceeded with the cleanup.  It was no small task, let me tell you.  It took at least thirty minutes to at least get it off the floors, rug and walls and start a load of laundry.  I would save the couch for later.  And the whole time, I am listening to an electronic book-reader toy read my son stories aloud in his room.  Something I would be doing if I was still married.  Because my husband would be cleaning up the mess so I could comfort my very sick son.  Or vice versa.  Either way, he would not have some stupid piece of red plastic with a battery in it reading him stories about Winnie the Pooh and the hundred acre wood.  He would have loving arms around him, kissing his forehead, telling him not to worry about all that mess because Daddy (or Mommy) would get it all cleaned up.  And he wouldn't have to be a five-year-old sitting in his room by himself, being strong and brave, when he feels so very sick.

That's the time I miss it most of all.

Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain

I used to think that people who blog have way too much time on their hands.  I mean, even when I was married and a stay-at-home mom, I just did not have the time, energy, or inclination for it.  Despite the fact that I love to write, and performed my stay-at-home mommy duties and then some by organizing a neighborhood mommy networking group, volunteering relentlessly and learning to cook...FINALLY...it frankly just never occurred to me.  I'm kind of more of a face time kind of gal.  And I think that there was a part of me that believed I was not as good at this mommy thing as other moms that I knew.  That bothered me, and since I was already trying to hold a crumbling marriage together with sheer will and duct tape, this failure was not one I was ready to advertise, or even admit.


Let me explain.  As the firstborn of three girls in my family, I was kind of the stereotypical perfectionist overachiever.  On top of that, I had been a nanny for five years - a very, very GOOD nanny.  So it frankly kind of shocked me that I was not turning out to be the supermom that I had always expected I would be.


My son had reflux after he was born.  And slept beautifully...for three weeks.  Then, the kid's real sleeping habits came to light.  And I did not sleep for over 4 hours in about 18 months.  Because even on the rare occasions where my husband helped out on an overnight, I would still have to wake up to nurse which, as it turns out, is quite often for a reflux baby.  I had no family in town to help.  No close friends in my immediate neighborhood.  I was indescribably alone.  I was lucky to get a shower every other day.  I did not attend the obligatory "mommy and me" classes, because I was just too darn tired.  I would hold my crying baby, who I loved more than my own life, and think about how useless I was that I couldn't make his pain and discomfort better.  And I looked at other new moms, with their flawless makeup, discussing preschool wait lists while drinking their Starbucks lattes and working on their goals of running a 10K...and felt like a total failure.


Here's the thing.  I'm five years into mommyhood.  My situation has drastically changed.  I am about to be divorced, I work about 50 hours a week, and my time with my son has been slashed to a fraction of what it used to be.  And I am still miles away from being the supermom I thought I would be.  What has also changed is that I am somewhat at peace with that.


Women are so brutally hard on themselves.  I don't care how well put together you are, how much money you make, or how many hours you spend with a shrink.  There is not a mother I know of that doesn't snap at her child in anger occasionally, even when it's not his fault, or occasionally give her career precedence over her kids, or stare at her checkbook for long agonizing minutes, willing the money to appear so her son can play baseball this season.  We all have moments where we are not enough.  And we all silently beat ourselves up for it.

I'll tell you why I wanted to have a blog.  Because for every mom that posts the annual family beach photos on her Facebook page that seems to excel at every aspect of not only being the perfect parent, but the perfect woman, there is someone like me.  Someone who really does NOT have it all together.  Someone who often runs late to school programs and forgets her camera.  Someone who does not enforce regular bedtimes because she wants that extra ten minutes of time to memorize the lines of her son's face as they read a bedtime story together.  Someone who feels the weight of a failed marriage and what that will do to her child every...single...day of his life.


I am not a supermom.  I am just a mom...flawed, a total mess, and doing my best to make a life for me and my son.  And I'm willing to bet that I'm not alone. 

In fact, I have come to believe that the whole concept of "supermom" is kind of like the Wizard of Oz.  It's as if women everywhere are saying to each other, and even to themselves, "Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain."  We're killing ourselves creating the smoke and mirrors, the image of the great and powerful Oz.  And really we're all just like the little dude from Kansas who got dropped into a world he wasn't prepared for and is trying like crazy to compensate.

So, I say screw that.  This blog is probably not going to be what you expected.  Kind of like how the direction of my life has not been what I expected.   You can expect a lot of talk about being a mom...but also about being a woman, being a single parent, making a half-hearted attempt of putting myself "out there" again, being a person of faith that isn't afraid to ask hard questions and, finally, being honest.

I am kicking "supermom" in the teeth...the idea of her, that is.  You can join me, or feel free to watch from a distance if you're not quite sure you're ready to buy into my mediocre shenanigans.  Either way, I think you will enjoy the ride.