If you’ve come here to read about the joys of motherhood, the warm, fuzzy moments of parenting, the aha! moments that make each day brighter, run far and run fast.
Even as I am writing, I have an almost-nine-year-old boy who is raging around his room because I had the nerve to take his Nintendo DS away when he hit his sister while they were playing. I am an abomination among mothers, because, as he explained to me during his rant, if I loved him, I would know that he hit his sister on “accident.”
So, I am the worst mother ever. I am a divorced mom with a son who will be turning 9 next week, and a 10 1/2 year old daughter with more attitude than Mike Tyson. Fortunately, the kids have a really great dad to make up for my shortcomings in the mommy department.
My marriage wasn’t my first failure in the relationship sector of life. And a brief investigation into the merits of a dating site convinced me that the only available men in my part of the country wear camouflage and think that dead animal heads constitute interior decoration– or at least their photos would lead you to believe that. Alas, I’m not interested in dating Jed Clampett, so I remain unattached.
This is real life. It’s not pretty. It’s complicated, messy, and can turn you into a raging lunatic. Your only option is not to take it too seriously. I maintain that laughter is much healthier for you than tears.