I’ve been trying to write a post for the better part of an hour, but the words just won’t come. Not the right words, anyway; the words that flow are ones that are better suited for the privacy of my ink scrawled journal, like the one I hide near my bed so that I can pretend it’s not really there.

As much as I believe in being transparent here, there and everywhere tonight it feels wrong to let the words I’ve typed see the light of day. Wrong because I want to bitch about how hard it is to be a responsible single parent when another isn’t. Wrong because I want to moan about how tired I am from working all day. Wrong because it’s on days like this that I hate that sometimes being a single mom is too much about budgets and juggling and stretching my dollars tighter than the size-too-small jeans stashed deep in my closet than it is about cuddles and fun and time spent together.

It feels wrong because someday my kids might read these words and think that it’s their fault that the words and the feelings are harsh today. None of it is their fault, but they might not realize that. These kids of mine are a lot like their mama; maybe it’s in the genes or it might just be the way I’ve raised them, but guilt is a frequent guest in our home. If someone I love feels bad, I always wonder if…..if I’d been nicer, would it be better? If I’d been a better friend, would they still be sad? If I’d been able to help in some way, would they be less stressed? If……

So these words I want to write? I’ll scrawl them in a journal, close it up and stuff it somewhere they can’t see it. Because I might not be able to take them everywhere they want to go, or buy them all the stuff they want or make their childhoods the stuff of story books but I can remember that the words I choose to share with them might stick with them longer than I intend. I can pick and choose how to express my feelings and find little ways to show them that even when the words are bitter the feelings are ¬†sweet, and I will always try to think of their feelings as I express mine. Because I know how long words can linger, and the impact they can make.


I took the kids out to dinner tonight, and Erin sent me a little message through her cheeseburger. She reminds me everyday–in her own way–that I have countless reasons to smile.

Linking up with #iPPP thanks to G*funk*ified