Trial and Error

I have finally decided to jump on the blogging bandwagon, because....well, because facebook just isn't enough, and writing something a little more substantial is starting to look rather attractive to me. There are some things I'd rather not broach with a facebook audience, but those are precisely the things I need to write about.  I need an outlet, and this is it.

I go by Mom, most of the time, and when I'm not Mom, I'm Sheila.  I am a divorced mother of five children.  I live in the soybean belt of Indiana.  I am employed at one job that actually gives me a paycheck, and another job that requires just as many hours, but alas, no paycheck.  While the pay for that second job isn't so great, the benefits can be awesome sometimes, and other times--not so much.

 Of the two jobs that I have, the job as single mother running a household is definitely the most difficult. Some days are better than others, some drive me to tears, some drive me to a glass (or three) of wine.  I will be the first to tell you that I secretly cringe at Mothers who appear to have it all together--I don't. I try to avoid them at all cost because they make me feel kind of inadequate and I certainly can't relate to those Moms who are perfect.  We all know who that one perfect Mom is--she's the one who is able to deftly handle her 60-hour work week as a busy executive, and she is the novice horticulturist whose yard wins "Yard of the Year" every year.  She volunteers at her children's schools so often that everyone thinks that she is a member of the faculty. Her kids are never in trouble, and they seem to do everything right.  She also, in her spare time, runs in every damned 5K, 10K, and triathalon, never breaking a sweat.  She actually weighs what it says she weighs on her drivers license, too.   Then, just in case you don't feel shleppish enough in her presence, she has the nerve to don a tiara and ride in a top-down BMW in the parade, having been crowned "Mother of the Year" by the city newspaper because her children, husband, friends, and relatives sent in so many stories, essays, and anecdotes about her that they decided no other woman could possibly be fit to wear that crown but her.

Yeah, I'm not her--I'm not even close.

I'm more of an "every Mom".  I sometimes struggle to pay the bills, and my lawn is still recovering from an ugly RoundUp incident five years ago.  I will be the first to tell you that I have shirked my fair share of responsibility as far as the school volunteering goes--unless there's something in it for me like a free lunch, or if I can fill in as a chaperone on a bus going to a band competition so I don't have to use my own gas--then I'm all over that.  At the time of this writing, I have one child sporting an ankle bracelet for home detention, and one who received a dress code violation on the first day of school.  I couldn't run if a pack of wolves were chasing me, but I appear to be in pretty good shape, for a fifty-year-old Mother of five.   Mother of the Year?  Only when used as a sarcastic barb thrown by one of the kids in anger--  "Wow, Mom! Way to fail at being Mother of the Year! AGAIN"


So, to recap:  No tiara; no perfect life; mouthy and sometimes disrespectful kids.  Actually, when you throw in some wine, it's really not so bad.  Even the Moms who seem to have perfect lives, really don't, but don't hold your breath waiting to hear that from them.  Even in the hardest times, there is humor to be found and a story to be told. That's what keeps me going--it's my therapy.  Now, excuse me while I attempt to make some kick-ass lemonade from some of these here lemons.