Well, that was ugly.

Everyone warned me that there would be some quiet, unassuming moment where the divorce would smack me like a ton of bricks, and I would LOSE. MY. SHIT. My divorced friends, my mom, my therapist- it was pretty unanimous that it would come. I thought I was ready. I have had some ugly moments, no doubt- just ask Sara Lynn about those early days, around the fire pit. Court was awful. I almost passed out- my lawyer had to grab me and hold me up (and for his hourly rate, I DO NOT FEEL BAD).  There are moments. Small, innocuous moments. However, nothing like what I experienced last night. Yesterday morning I met with a photographer friend to get some family photos done. I have a few good pics of the boys and I post single hood, but nothing GREAT. I wanted fabulous. I wanted fall festiveness. And let me tell you, I got it. My gal Christine is extremely talented. It was cold, a bit damp, and my boys are almost three and five. There wasn't a listening ear in the house! I didn't doubt her talents because she did J's newborn shots, and a very entertaining, nose-picking, pond-exploring shoot almost two years ago. Pics? Gorgeous. Yesterday was no different. She shared this image with me.

I loved it. I thought it was amazing, and captured us so well. I didn't feel fat, I didn't think anyone looked disheveled- I just loved it with all of my being. I felt like it truly captured who we are. And then I. LOST. MY. EVERLOVING. SHIT. Sobbing. Boogering. Ugly crying. Unable to breath crying. Couldn't see but for the tears. This is my family. My beautiful, perfect in my eyes, family. And I am the head of it. IT IS ME. There is no co-parent visible, because there isn't one, and that is a-ok. There is happiness in my house, in my life, and joy in my heart. There's also a crap ton of laundry to put away and other such things- which truly means nothing in the long run. I wept for the could haves, should haves, and won't ever happens. Hell, I even CALLED A FRIEND. I don't particularly like to "have emotions" with others, I prefer to keep them all locked up, and function under a facade of normalcy. With this kind of grief, it wasn't happening. I could barely talk on the phone, and my friend seemed to just know what to say. I talked to my mom, and as always, got me (my mom is AWESOME), and reiterated that I was normal, and having an "artichoke" moment (long story, for another day). Once the tears finally dried, I looked at this picture again, and laughed. This is my family. I love them. 

And it is perfect. 

Happiness is...

Well, in my house, happiness is apparently a crap-ton of work! I laugh because today is a HOME DAY! The days with no school, and when my boys and I are all together. Daddy days DON'T count, obviously. When the boys woke up this morning and realized it was a home day there was great rejoicing. There were pancakes in our jammies, and an actual leisurely shower by mommy (hey, four minutes is totally leisurely in my book!). I BLOW DRIED MY HAIR. It's cool, pick your jaws up off the floor. I only did it because we were meeting my friend Christine for family pictures. Family picture day is important to all mamas, but for me, it's something totally different. It is like a tangible representation that our mama-headed family is real. Obviously, I know we are a family, that's not news. However, it takes on a tremendous amount of meaning when you aren't "normal". It's a way for me to remind myself, and family and friends, that we ARE a family. We're a-ok without a traditional set up. Hell, we're way freaking better. We're HAPPY. And today, happiness truly is a trashed house. It was rather orderly, but then we went to a playdate, and the fabric store, and the market. Now, it's several wooden cars drying on the kitchen table; a few smears of paint on the family room wall; apple peels on the counter; tiny cars scattered throughout five rooms; random stalks of celery on the kitchen floor from my "helpers". In fact, as I just observed, it's a living room couch in the MIDDLE of the living room (silly wood floors mean that furniture just gouges slides around). These things may make my eye twitch uncontrollably, but really, it's ok. We have chicken noodle soup simmering; apple crisp in the oven; a craft mommy and nuggets did together (the cars!); and a pretty awesome fort made out of the living room curtains, the couch, and a few chairs (alright, that part is making me nuts). It's pure happiness. The sounds of laughter and a little fighting, if I'm honest.

It's a warm, happy home, mess be damned. Oh., and apparently it's clothing optional. Sigh. So well worth it.

Fashion sense, or lack thereof.

I used to look cute sometimes. Emphasis on the sometimes! I know how to match things, and the like. These days, however, I seem to have settled into a horrific rut. There are dresses, and there are pajamas. Dresses can encompass everything from formal stuff with an actual zipper, that has to be actually used in order to put on the dress, and my daily uniform of moo-mooooooo. Yes, I know that's not how it is spelled, but remember, I love hyphens. Anything I can pull over my head qualifies. I wear them to work, around the house, to the beach, to the market. Most of my favorites dresses are actually beach cover ups, which, if I am being kind of honest, look like it. I am the woman wearing a sleeveless dress in January, with a sweater and leggings, because c'mon, who has time??? At this point, most of my moo-moos are looking a bit worse for wear. I finally trashed my purple cotton moo because it had grease spots and a black frosting stain. I cried. Then there are pajamas, heretofore referred to as things that are comfortable and in a varying stage of decay. They're comfy. Ripped. Stained. That's fine with me! My kids don't care, and typically neither do it. 

HOWEVER. And this is a gigantic HOWEVER. I am single.

Theoretically, I should have an outfit or two that isn't hideous. My mom bought me some gorgeous things at the beginning of the summer, and I wear them to work a lot. As in, I pair the shirts with some stretchy could-be-yoga-pants-but-maybe-fitted-real-pants and run out the door. I love them. 

But when faced the concept of, oh geez, I don't know- GOING ON A DATE- I freeze. I have jeans. They have tye dye on them (oops). So I have another pair of jeans. They make me look like a vienna sausage in search of some extra casing. Then there is the last pair of jeans- that fit fine, but hang off my non-existent ass in a pretty disturbing plumber-ish way (I have no ass, don't blame my comfy jeans)! NOW WHAT? I have cute shoes, of course, that I can't really wear (stupid effing plantar fasciitis) but will wear anyway, and I have GREAT mascara (who doesn't want eyelashes that leave a shadow?) and a pretty damn fine personality- and yet, NO. GOOD. JEANS. 

I think I need to live in that awesome jeans commercial where they measure the women and say things like "your size is radiant!", and every woman looks insane. 

Until then, unstained moo-moo for the win.

Actually...no.

I have been really nasty the past two days. I'm a happy, kind, friendly person- but I have wanted to stay out of my own way. I finally realized that I'm pissed off. I had a chat with someone the other day- another mama, merely an acquaintance. It was totally innocent- she's stressed out, remembered I was divorced, and she said, "Oh it must be so nice to have some time to yourself while the kids are with their dad!". I nodded and said goodbye. No big deal. But really? THAT'S what is bothering me. So, from a single mama to two little nuggets- some insight.

IT SUCKS.

No really, IT BITES.

Of course I enjoy seeing friends, and shopping unfettered. These are things I do even when the kids are with me. If I am that much in need of help, I hire a sitter, or call a friend. When I do not have my kiddos with me, because they are with their father, I am NOT excited. I do things that are fun, and try to make the most of it, but in all actuality, I feel dis-jointed. Not whole. Off-kilter. And lots of other phrases that utilize hyphens, because I really like hyphens. There is nothing that upsets me more than stepping on a lego (because it hurts like a bitch, obviously) because it draws attention to the fact that my boys aren't playing with them. When I turn on the TV and Disney Junior pops up, it moves me to tears. Opening the fridge, I see all these little gross drinky yogurts, and I cry. They all scream in my face "YOOO HOOOO!!!! You, there? YOU ARE A FAILURE. You suck. You couldn't maintain your marriage for the sake of your kids." There. I said it. That's what it feels like. Lest there be some confusion- I am fucking THRILLED that I am not married (happy enough that I will utilize the oh-so-crude f-bomb [ooooh hyphens]). Keeping misery afloat just leads to more misery. However, I refuse to say that it's all fun and games.

Egads, you think. This lady needs a therapist. I beg to differ (I already have a damn good one).  No, I am not depressed. No, I do not need anything other than people to understand that it's NOT fun to have free time when all you want is to be with your kids. Telling me I am lucky to have time away from my children DOESN'T HELP. I know it's from a good place, from looking at the bright side, and what not.  I don't hold it against people. Please, some days, all I, and every other mama on the planet, needs is a break from my kiddos- I get that.

Please, PLEASE, don't consider me lucky. Give me a hug, come visit, call me. Say I know this sucks but let's try to stay positive. I get that. I AM THAT. I am a ray of flipping sunshine.

But even the brightest sun can be obscured by the clouds.